


in a mirror, darkly

by neroh



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Snow White and the Huntsman Fusion, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexual Character, Canonical Character Death, Dark Magic, Fairy Tale Retellings, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Poisoned Apples, Strangers to Lovers, Temporary Character Death, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince James, the imprisoned son of the late queen, escapes just as the Magic Mirror declares him the source of King Nero's immortality. The king sends his men, led by a local huntsman, Leonard McCoy, to bring the prince back and begins our tale of adventure...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BreTheWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreTheWriter/gifts).



> Some of the dialogue has been taken from the film, _Snow White and the Huntsman_.
> 
> Thank you to the usual suspects... you ladies are the best/worst!

There is a tale told from generation to generation of a king who wandered through the forest during the winter months. 

It was his usual wont to have an afternoon stroll while his wife, the queen, attended matters concerning their land. On this day, the king came upon a single blue rose, native to the kingdom, blooming despite the snowflake drifting around it. Bemused, the king approached the flower and went to pluck it from the bush it grew upon.

The thorns pricked his finger, drawing blood that fell to the snow covering the ground. The king stared at the droplets, wishing for a child whose eyes were as blue as the rose’s petals, whose hair was golden like the sun, and those will be as strong as the flower whose thorns pricked him.

He left the flower to grow in the forest and ventured back to his castle to tell his wife of the rose whose bloom had not faltered.

Nine months later, the queen gave birth to a son whom she and the king named James.

James, or Jim as he was affectionately known, grew into a strong and happy child with brilliant blue eyes and hair as golden as the sun.

He was beloved throughout the kingdom and adored by his parents. The young prince and his companion, the Lady Carol, got into the usual mischief that children do: chasing each other through lush fields, seeing who could climb highest amongst the branches of the apple tree in the castle courtyard, and pretend sword fighting in the corridors.

All seemed well in the young prince’s life, though soon he would learn of great sorrow.

A dark force threatened the kingdom and the king rode into battle to defend his people. Though the forces were defeated, it came at a price. The king was slain by a spear through his heart and he died only hours before his son’s seventh birthday.

The queen, overcome with grief, could not bear to look her son in the eye, for he strongly resembled his deceased father, and went into mourning.

James only saw his mother in passing, as she kept busy with running the kingdom now that her husband was dead. He wondered if he would ever see a smile on his beautiful mother’s face again or if the pain of their mutual loss would disappear over time.

Once again the kingdom was threatened by dark forces and the queen, no swooning maiden, rode into battle just as her husband had. The dark army was defeated once again and one of its remaining members made an attempt on the queen’s life, which was thwarted by a knight.

The knight took an arrow, meant for her highness, in the shoulder and was brought back to the castle for medical treatment. There, the knight called Nero charmed the still grieving queen and upon his recovery, it was announced that they were to be wed.

What should have been a joyous celebration quickly turned to chaos and bloodshed, for Nero was no knight, but a warlock who was in command of a much darker, very real army. After murdering the queen in their wedding bed, he allowed the army to enter the castle gates where all who were unable to flee were slain.

All except one—Prince James, whom Nero stored in high up in the north tower until he could be of use to his stepfather.

Until that time came the prince lived in isolation and squalor, waiting for the day that he could escape.

 

* * *

 

James strikes the flint once, then twice, watching it spark in the chilly air. 

Trying not to be discouraged, he repeats his actions again. Soon a spark of orange flame ignites, small and weak, but James is well versed with cultivating it into a fire that will provide him warmth. After all, he’s been imprisoned in this very room from the time he was eight years old.

The prince sets the flint against the dry straw and twigs, blowing gently against the flame in an effort to spread it across the hearthstone.

It takes unwavering patience and more time than James would care to admit to, but eventually, a fire roars, spreading heat inside of his cell. He leans back on his heels, sighing with relief, and mutters a whispered prayer of thanks that the prince remembers from his childhood.

James rises to his feet and goes to the window, standing on tiptoe to try to view the sea below. It is darker than he recalls; bleak beyond all comprehension.

 _No_ , the prince thinks as he eases himself down and walks several paces to his cot. _It’s Nero’s doing._

Nero the king of his parents’ land. The dark warlock whose power crippled the once lush kingdom and caused everything to die.

James curls up on the cot, resting his chin on his knee, and huffs a sigh. He used to be afraid of this room and the wails that traveled through its stone walls.

The cries from the young men and women Ayel, Nero’s brother and commander of the dark army, procures for his older brother’s needs. James does not know what purpose they serve except that his tower mate is not there long and never returns.

It used to frighten him as a child and give him nightmares, filling the cell with his own screaming and the sound of Ayel’s laughter.

Then one day it began to fuel the prince’s anger and he began to learn from his captors.

“Please, no!” a young woman cries as the tower door opens. The sound of footsteps falling against the cobblestones and the maiden’s pleas for the guards to let her go echoes all around James.

The door to the cell across from James opens. “In with you!” one of the guards orders.

It is clear from the surprised grunt that the young woman is shoved inside and the door bolted shut. The guards leave, chuckling, and soon James is alone with her.

He goes to the door and peers through the iron bars. “Hello?” he calls, daring to raise his voice an octave.

The young woman sniffles, but doesn’t dare reply.

“What is your name?” James asks, licking his lips out of habit.

He hears movement and gentle footfalls prior to the young woman’s face appearing across the hall. She is a pretty thing comprised of pale skin, green eyes, and hair as red as flame. “Gaila,” she replies, wiping tears from her cheeks. “What will they do with me?”

James shakes his head because for all the years he has spent in the tower, he never knows what becomes of the others. “I don’t know,” he tells her.

“They came into my village, a swarm of the king’s men wearing armor as black as death,” Gaila says through tears. “I was trying to reach the Dukes Marcus and Pike when they caught me.”

His mouth falls open. “Dukes Marcus and Pike!” he exclaims. “They’re still alive? What of the Lady Carol? Do they still fly my mother’s standard?”

“You’re the prince,” Gaila gasps, staring at James like she’s seen a ghost. It takes a few moments for the shock to wear off before she speaks again. “We were told that everyone in the castle was slain.”

James presses his lips together and shakes his head, remembering all of the dead whose blood turned the cobblestones crimson. “Do the dukes fly my mother’s standard these past ten years?”

“Yes,” the young woman replies. “They do, your highness.”

Her words fill James with hope, something long missed but not forgotten. “Tell me everything you know.”

 

* * *

 

Nero watches his subjects gathering below his window as water, milky and lukewarm at best, falls from a sewerage pipe. 

The water soaks their withered, dirty skin as they fight like wild animals for a single drop.

“Do you remember when we were young and begging for scraps, Ayel?” he asks. Nero turns, focusing his fathomless eyes on his brother who stands in waiting. “The cold that settled into our bones and morsels we were denied. I remember like it was yesterday.”

Ayel bows his head as he steps forward. “You are a kind ruler,” he tells Nero. “Far kinder than they deserve.”

“Yet they despise me,” Nero says quietly. He walks away from the window, towards the throne room where two prisoners—a man and his son—kneel between guards on either side.

Ayel comes up alongside him. “They were caught trying to ambush our supplies train,” he whispers into his brother’s ear. “There were more, but they managed to evade our troops.”

“A pity,” the king sighs. He comes down the steps and goes to be seated on the throne, where he studies the men with dark eyes.

Both of them look back at him, their expressions just like the others who have been there before them. They gaze upon Nero with hate and fear alike, though hatred seems to burn brighter in the son.

“You,” he says, staring at the younger of the pair. “You look at me with such anger and rage.”

The son stays silent, though the frown etched in his skin deepens.

Curious, Nero rises from the throne and approaches the men. He reaches out and tilts the son’s chin up with the tips of his fingers. “Once upon a time, I would have longed to be like you,” the king intones. “Fearless, beautiful… _young_.”

The lad turns, reaching from the dagger sheathed in one of the guard’s belts and plunges it into Nero’s abdomen.

Pain; it’s crimson fury and violence spreads through his body until it recedes like the waves that beat upon the shore beyond the castle walls. Nero staggers back several paces, pulling the dagger from his abdomen with a cry.

“Is this how you treat your sovereign?” Nero asks as the wound heals under his clothing, unseen to the spectators in the throne room. He clutches the blood-soaked dagger as he comes up to the son, who is being hoisted to his feet. “Is this how you repay my _kindness_!”

The son does not have the time to react, for Nero touches his chest and feels his heart pulsing under skin, muscle, and bone.

So sweet and vibrant, so full of life.

Nero leers at the son, who begins to gasp for breath over his father’s pathetic begging. He watches as life dwindles in the young man’s eyes until it’s gone and Nero is left gasping. He pushes the son’s corpse away from him with a shout.

“Allow the elder to live,” he orders, turning so swiftly that his robes make a thunderous sound. Nero smiles at the father, who is torn between tears for his dead son and his anger at his king. “Send my regards to the dukes. I miss them so.”

With a flick of his wrist, the father is taken from the throne room to be released. Nero saunters back to his private chambers, where he sits in front of a golden mirror, tired.

He stares at his reflection, noticing the crow’s feet that have magically appeared near his eyes. It makes him look even more weary or…

“Old,” Nero says to the mirror.

“Just tired,” Ayel tells him. When Nero turns, his brother is standing like a shroud. “I have something for what ails you, brother dear.”

Nero tilts his head, now curious. Wordlessly, he stands and follows his brother into another room, whose lights are dim and where a young woman stands with flaming red hair.

Her frantic movements remind him of a deer just before a hunter shoots their arrow. She spies Nero approaching her and pales significantly.

“None of that,” he tells her, shaking her head. Nero reaches out to caress her chin, admiring her porcelain skin. “Such a lovely creature; there may have been a time where I lost my heart in a maiden such as yourself.”

The girl trembles. “What will you, your highness?”

“Your youth,” Nero drawls before he opens his mouth and she screams.

 

* * *

 

Once the girl’s body has been removed from his sight, Nero retreats back to his private chambers. 

He feels better than before, more full of life and power, but he knows the effects won’t last long. The very thought of his powers waning makes him anxious.

“Mirror, mirror,” Nero whispers into the candlelight room where the golden mirror beckons him. He approaches it and begins to pace in front of it. His voice comes out stronger than before. “Mirror, mirror…on the wall. Who is fiercest of them all?”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, growing thinner until the barrier between the land of the living and the beyond mix together. A figure covered in a golden veil emerges from the mirror, gliding towards Nero until they are face to face.

A woman’s voice comes, husky and formidable. “My king, you have defied nature and robbed it of its fairest root. But on this day there is one fiercer than you,” she says, word curling around Nero and soaking him in cold.

Cold of death, corpses, and ruin.

“Who is it?” he asks. 

The figure nods. “James,” she replies.

“The prince?” Nero questions, shocked. He had nearly forgotten about the boy’s existence, other than ensuring that he was fed and kept alive. “What of him?”

“He is the reason why your powers wane,” the figure tells him.

Nero balks at this information and begins to pace, his robes flowing behind him. “James?” he repeats. “That boy is my undoing?” Those very words bring a fit of anger that pulses through his veins. “I should have killed him when he was a child…”

“Be warned, my highness, his innocence, and purity are all that can destroy you. But he is also your salvation,” the figure explains, motioning to her chest with graceful fingers. “Take his heart in your hand and you shall never again need to consume youth. You shall never again weaken or age, my king.”

Nero stands still, his eyes on the floor. “Immortality,” he says to himself, his voice low like a breeze. He looks up to the figure, who stands before him. Nero senses his brother is nearby, if not watching from the shadows. “Ayel!” Nero shouts. “Bring me the Queen’s son!”

 

* * *

 

James sits in waiting for news of Gaila.

She had been taken a quarter of an hour ago, perhaps more, without a word from the guards. Gaila didn’t dare call his name, for it would certainly lead to her demise. Though James cannot be sure if she is still breathing.

A shiver runs deep into his bones and he decides to stop sitting for a time. James rises to his feet just as a bird hops inside of his cell.

It’s one of the larks that comes to chirp by his window. Sometimes they allow the prince to touch them before flying away, soaring high above the castle. The lark waits for James to approach and calls to the young man before hopping outside the window.

He follows the lark’s trail, his eyes making contact with a piece of metal stuck between two slabs of stone. James has never noticed this before and goes to investigate as much as the small space allows.

Careful of the stones and grime, he manages to touch the object, a nail. It feels thick and sturdy against his palm. To James’ surprise, the metal is loose enough to pull. Under the concealment of the sea below, he pulls on the nail until the stone that holds on to it gives way and James tumbles back with it in hand.

The prince stares down at it, inspecting the weather-worn metal in his grimy hand when he hears the doors to the tower opening. Ayel’s voice carries all the way to James’ cell as the latter scrambles towards his bed. He plays possum, pretending that he’s napping and hides the nail under his pillow.

He has always hated Nero’s brother, who looks upon the prince like he is a piece of meat or a toy. His cold stare makes James’ skin crawl and his stomach knot until the commander leaves. James realizes that he should count his blessings that Ayel has never touched him, but one of these days, his luck will run out.

And one of these days, the commander will have his way with the prince.

His cell door opens and Ayel steps inside. James blinks as if he has just woken.

“I did not mean to wake you,” Ayel assures, his soft tone false.

James swallows and rolls onto his back, watching the commander approach his bed. “It’s all right, my lord,” he says as Ayel sits on the edge of the cot.

“Are you always awake when I come to watch you?”

The prince swallows. “You never stay long when you’ve come to visit,” he whispers.

“Nero won’t allow it,” Ayel explains as he reaches out to touch James’ lower lip with a gloved finger. “He wants you all to himself.”

James wants to recoil. “I am afraid.”

“Of whom, my prince?” Ayel questions as his fingers trace the young man’s jaw. “Of my brother?” His dark eyes flicker when James swallows. “But not of me?”

The prince forces himself to shake his head. “No.”

“Fear not, my prince,” Ayel declares as his finger dips into the collar of James’ shirt to see what exposed skin he can find. “You will never again be locked in this cell.”

James shivers. “What does his lordship want from me?” he asks as Ayel starts to unlace the stays of his shirt.

“Your beating heart,” Ayel hisses as he lunges on top of the prince.

He begins kicking and squirm, trying to shake Ayel off of him. The commander’s grip is fierce and his will strong as he seeks to defile the prince before he is taken to Nero. “Get off me!” James yells. “Stop!”

“You’re lively,” the commander taunts, his hand reaching for James’ breeches. “You shall make a fine conquest, my prince.”

James manages to shake Ayel’s hand from around his wrist that clutches the nail and slashes the man down the side of his face before he realizes what he’s doing. It’s enough to stun Ayel while James grabs a stool and smashes it over his head.

The commander slumps on top of the cot, bleeding and half-conscious, giving the prince ample time to grab the cell keys from his belt. James rushes to the cell door and slams it shut, locking it just as Ayel comes to his senses.

He backs away just in time for the commander’s hand to shoot out in a claw. It is shaking with rage, matching the horrible curses that fall from Ayel’s mouth.

James waits no longer and runs.

He runs through familiar corridors that used to be filled with light and laughter, now dead like his parents. As childhood memories kick in, James guides himself through the castle, using the secret passages that he and Carol explored when they were young.

Gone is their childlike laughter and joy, replaced by slime and dirt that coat the stone walls. But at least his friends live, making their home in the Duke Marcus’ fortress.

Gaila had known very little, but what she did know was useful to James: The Dukes Marcus and Pike still fought in the name of his mother, taking in refugees from all over the kingdom.

If he can make it out of the castle walls and head north without being caught by Nero’s army, James will be able to take part in the fight to win back his kingdom and repair the damage done to it.

He hears shouts of his escape through the corridors above, the voices of his captors traveling down to where James is. He knows he doesn’t have much time before the entire garrison is after him.

The prince picks up his pace, soon finding himself in the courtyard. It’s much different than it was ten years ago; the apple tree is withered and charred.

 _Dead_ , James thinks as he ducks his head and swiftly makes his way across, trying to go by unnoticed. _Dead like everything around me._

He brushes past an old man, muttering a single apology as his attention is elsewhere: a sewerage tunnel that connects to the ocean below. It’s dangerous, though not as dangerous as being apprehended.

“Seize him!” Ayel screams from above, pointing to James with a shaking finger. His pale face is masked with red fury and the prince can only assume that his cold eyes burn like the depths of hell.

James breaks into a run and dives head first into the sewer, where he falls some ten feet into the murky, foul waters below. He swims upward and breaks through the surface, gagging and sputtering.

The smell alone makes his eyes water.

James wades through the sewer as the commotion above him grows. Its sounds become distance, overpowered by the roar of the sea. The salty air is a blessing and he inhales it deeply, making the prince dizzy.

It’s been so long since he’s been outside, not since his sixteenth birthday during his first escape attempt. He only made it to the upstairs corridor, but it had been night then.

And he had been caught.

The prince nears the mouth of the sewer where the ocean crashes against the cliffs for the sprays’ impact is visible to him. He hurries through the water until James finds himself peering down at the whitecaps below.

 _Jump,_ he says to himself. _Jump or die._

James backs away from the opening, before turning around to run towards it. He propels himself out of the sewer and braces himself for the impact of the churning waters below.

When it comes, it is like being dunked in ice. James nearly lets his held breath out to scream at the sensation of a thousand needles stabbing his flesh.

He swims with the current, away from the rocky shoreline under the castle. The prince resurfaces for air, only to be pushed back down by violent waves and come up for short, pained breaths.

Sooner than he expected, the sand claws at James’ boot covered feet. He sputters and coughs as he forces his body to crawl to shore, where he regains his bearings behind an alcove of rocks.

There the lark appears like an apparition, chirping and flapping its wings for the prince to follow. James wipes the sea water from his eyes and gets to his feet, wobbling like a foal.

So he follows the lark, for the bird has yet to lead him astray until they come upon a black mare resting on the sunny beach. She stares at the prince with warm brown eyes, watching as he slowly approaches her with one outstretched hand.

“Easy girl,” James whispers as he comes closer. He smiles as the mare elongates her neck to sniff his hand, feeling her whiskers against his skin. “Easy.”

The mare allows him to pet her muzzle with soft strokes. James moves his hand up her forehead, eyeing her warily in case if the horse should start.

To his surprise, the mare stays seated as if she is waiting for him to mount her. James does this, holding onto her mane as he swings one of his legs over her back. Once he is securely on the mare, the prince gives her a little nudge with his heel.

And so they ride, away from the castle.

 

* * *

 

Richard is no longer a young man, not by any means, but he _knows_ that the young man that bumped into him was one of royal blood.

From the brief glimpse, he was allowed as he readied his stead for departure back to Duke Marcus’ fortress, he saw the spitting image of King George. There was very little of Queen Winona in the boy’s face, though he made up for it with her steel will.

He had known the royal couple and their son for many years and had grieved their deaths, especially the latter’s.

But now…

 _The prince is alive_ , Richard thinks as he rides towards his sanctuary high up in the mountains, putting distance between himself and King Nero. _We will be saved!_

 

* * *

 

James is only aware of the beating of the mare’s hooves and the wind rushing past his ears. 

He is far enough ahead of Ayel and his men to outrun them should he enter the forest. Its charred trees rise up from the earth like jagged thorns. He nudges the mare again, readying himself as she gained speed in her gallop and carried them towards the outskirts of the forest.

Hope flutters in the prince’s chest; he’s just steps closer to freedom, for he doubts that Ayel would pursue him into the dense vegetation. While the commander is fierce, James reckons he is also cowardly.

Suddenly the prince finds himself flying through the air. Before he can blink, he hits the muddy ground with enough force to expel the air from his lungs. As pain blossoms through his body, James drags himself to his hands and knees.

Nothing seems broken, bruised mayhap, but nothing more.

The prince turns to the mare and gasps at her corpse that lies in the muck. An arrow penetrates through her skull, the shot killing her instantly.

James has no time for tears and takes off running towards the forest with his captors in pursuit. The mud makes it difficult to move at times and he nearly falls into it, but the prince is able to keep both feet on the ground.

“Don’t let him make it to the dark forest!” Ayel screams, his voice ringing in the prince’s ears.

An arrow whizzes past James’ head, too high up to hit him.

“Be careful, you fool!” the commander yells. “Nero wants him _alive_!”

 _He will not have me,_ the young man declares as he crosses the border of the forest, much to Ayel’s blind rage.

The sun, which hung overhead, is now gone. Its rays are hidden away from the trees and branches that loom over James’ head as if he’s been plunged into twilight.

He forces himself to squint as he makes his way through the vegetation, careful to stick on the aged path in front of him. James braces his hands in front of him in case if he should topple over, as there are many roots and debris in his way.

A twig snaps and he jerks his head.

It’s nothing but a crow, who stares at the lost prince with three eyes…

James gasps at the malformation and takes off running, his heart pounding in his chest. He realizes that his surroundings all bear a form of darkness. The dead animals—the lucky ones—have maggots pouring out of their carcasses, the trees are twisted into razor sharp points, and the plants scramble to grab onto the prince as he passes them by.

More crows come, descending upon James and forcing him further into the forest. As he flees, his boot gets caught in a root that rests above ground, causing him to fall.

James’ landing is softened by a morbid field of flowers whose black petals hiss and spray clouds of smoke into his face. He inhales it, his stomach revolting at the stench as the prince gets back to his feet.

He moves, stumbling, as the flowers’ venom takes effect, leaving James feeling like he’s intoxicated. The prince latches onto a branch, using it to guide him to the next one as the forest seizes up and reveals its true nature.

James sees his parents, their pale corpses suddenly reanimated to haunt him during his escape. They stare at him with sightless eyes, clouded by death, and make their way over to their child.

His mother’s hands are outstretched, as if she wants to embrace him. At her bosom is the dagger that Nero used to kill her, still embedded in her flesh and stained with her blood.

A scream rips forth from the prince’s throat and he flees, running as fast as he can in his current state. James is convinced that his mother is still following him when he collides with a solid form, knocking him onto his backside.

Looming above him is his father, still wearing the armor he wore the day he rode into battle and never returned home.

He leans over his son, reaching out to touch the prince’s cheek before James’ world goes black and he knows no more.


	2. Chapter 2

“How!” Nero screams at the top of his lungs, feeling the burn as his voice erupts from his throat. 

He stands in front of Ayel, who kneels with his head bowed. “How does that little brat evade you? How! I want to know!” Ayel says nothing as his brother strides around the perimeter of the room.

“James _is just_ a boy,” Nero continues raging. “You. _You_! You’ve had armies fallen at your feet, kingdoms crumble at the wave of your hand and yet, a _boy_ is able to outsmart you!” He grabs Ayel’s jaw and forces his brother to look deep into his eyes. “If he had a sword, he would have taken my kingdom!”

He lets Ayel go with a snarl, going to the mirror that sits silently against the wall. Nero stares at it, seeing his reflection. The king expects a change of some sort now that James has escaped, but there is none. His skin is still porcelain and flawless, his hair still raven colored and as equally dark as his eyes.

 _Fiercest blood_ , his mother had told him as she cast the spell upon Nero as a boy. She had rushed, as there were people coming to take her from Nero and Ayel. _Your bravery is all that can save you, my darling Nero. This spell will make it your power and protection. By fiercest blood, it is done. But be warned, by fiercest blood this spell can be undone._

She had pricked his finger while Ayel looked on and the droplets fell into a marble bowl, three of them. Nero barely had a moment to say goodbye when the men took her, leaving his brother and himself to starve. They were a witch’s offspring and no better than dirt on the ground.

But his mother’s spell had been true and Nero’s good looks became his salvation, as well as his brother’s. Together, they terrorized kingdoms and forced their citizens to bow at their feet or be slain.

He _will not_ fall to a boy.

“Where did he go?” Nero asks in a sudden fit of calm.

Ayel clears his throat. “The dark forest,” he replies as his reflection appears alongside Nero’s.

“I have no power in the dark forest,” the king tells his brother. He turns, noticing the glint in Ayel’s eyes. “But you know something, don’t you, brother dear?”

His brother nods. “There is a man,” he starts to explain. “A huntsman who knows the dark forest as well as its inhabitants.”

“Who is this Huntsman?” Nero inquires, looking back at the mirror.

 

* * *

 

Leonard McCoy is not having a good day. 

He hasn’t had one in quite a while if he’s honest with himself. He finds himself being hurled into the streets and in a puddle that soaks his already dirty clothing with grime and mud. Leonard shakes his head, trying to clear the ale from it, and notices that a crowd is gathering around him.

“McCoy!” Hendorff shouts as he comes charging out of the pub with all his brute strength and anger. “Where’s my money?”

Leonard manages to get himself to his feet and stagger over to Hendorff, who has his arms folded over his chest. “I told you before,” he drawls as charmingly as possible. “I drank it, but if you wait several hours it’ll come back up!”

The crowd roars with laughter as Leonard flashes them a grin.

Except for Hendorff, who punches him right in the face and knocks him out cold.

There he dreams of Jocelyn.

His Jocelyn, his beloved, who vanished without a trace and never returned. She had nursed him back to health during one of the revolts against Nero these five years past.

Leonard had come back from battle as a different man. A man who had seen much darkness until it smothered him.

But Jocelyn saw the best in Leonard and brought him back to life.

And then she was gone, taken by Nero’s men…

The darkness found him once again.

Until someone throws water upon him, jarring Leonard out of his dreams. He sputters and coughs as the water gets into his nose and mouth. “What the hell!” he bellows, wiping his hair out of eyes.

“Are you Leonard McCoy?” asks a very pale man with a shock of black hair. He is wearing armor that matches his hair coloring, polished so thoroughly that Leonard can see his reflection in the metal.

Leonard raises a brow. “And what if I am?”

“King Nero demands your presence,” the pale man states, his tone leaving no room for argument.

If there is one thing that Leonard despises, it’s the king. And being ordered around. He is a stubborn sort and has never taken kindly to demands, especially from strangers. “It just happens that I’m a bit busy at the moment,” Leonard tells the pale man. “You’ve interrupted my bath!”

They haul him to his feet before taking Leonard to the castle in chains; apparently, the king’s men don’t have a sense of humor. Leonard sobers up as he’s pushed into the throne room. He reckons that it was once a magnificent place, long before Nero ascended the throne. The castle, like the rest of the kingdom, has fallen into a state of chaos and darkness.

The king sits in front of him, eyeing Leonard as the pale man and his guards force him to approach. “Is this him, Ayel?” Nero questions.

The pale man, who Leonard surmises is called Ayel, nods. “It is,” he replies, shoving the huntsman forward.

Leonard falls to his hands and knees, right at the edges of Nero’s robes. The man walks around him, inspecting the huntsman with a critical eye. Leonard doesn’t even flinch, knowing that showing any sign of weakness will end in his death.

But he welcomes death…if it means that he will be reunited with Jocelyn.

“Quite young, is he not?” Nero comments, reaching for Leonard’s chin with a gloved hand. “What is your name, Huntsman, or shall I make one up for you?”

The jibe makes his cheeks flush. “McCoy,” he intones harshly. “Leonard McCoy.”

“Leonard,” Nero repeats. “My brother tells me that you are one of the few who have ventured into the dark forest and lived to tell the tale.”

The Huntsman says nothing as the king’s words resonate.

“One of my prisoners has escaped there,” Nero tells him.

Leonard laughs before he can stop himself and the sound echoes off the throne room’s walls dark walls. “Then your man is dead,” he chuckles.

“A boy,” the king hisses.

The Huntsman rolls his eyes. “Then the lad is certainly dead, your highness,” he amends. “Sorry I couldn’t be of any more service. Now if you’d please unlock these chains…”

“ _SILENCE_!” Nero bellows, his voice reminding Leonard of an approaching storm. “You _will_ go into the dark forest and retrieve what is mine or I shall put you to death, _Huntsman_.”

Leonard snorts back maudlin laughter. “Then you’d be doing me a favor, your highness.”

His comment surprises the king, leaving him to study the huntsman once more. Perhaps Nero expected Leonard to beg for his life or do his bidding. “You’ve lost someone dear to you,” the king states, grabbing the younger man by his filthy hair and forcing Leonard to look him in the eye. “Not a child; you don’t strike me as the paternal sort. A parent? Sibling…no wait. A lover.”

The huntsman grits his teeth together in an effort to hold his tongue. The mere mention of Jocelyn, though not in name, makes his heart break anew. Leonard wants to egg the king on until he kills him and he can join her in death.

“Your wife,” Nero breathes. “You miss her, don’t you? Well, if you do my bidding I can reunite you.”

Leonard gapes at the king, finding his mouth has gone dry. “You can bring her back?” he whispers. “Truly?”

“Truly,” the king replies. “If you go to the dark forest and bring back my prisoner, I shall resurrect your dearly departed wife. Unless there is more you want.”

He shakes his head. “No,” Leonard says. “No, that is enough.”

 

* * *

 

James wakes with a splitting headache and no idea of how much time has passed since he lost consciousness. 

He pulls himself up, stomach roiling, and sways as his surroundings come back into view. The trees are still menacing and loom above while the other life in the forest is as quiet as the grave. Using a low hanging branch, James gets to his feet and slowly dusts the dirt from his clothing. He is rubbing his head when the prince hears a noise.

“Stay close to me,” a man’s voice orders. “Do as I do and you may live through this unless you want your brains eaten by banshees or your bones crushed by trolls.”

James ducks near a shrub, watching through the branches as a group of five men pass him by. One of them is Ayel, for the prince could never forget his face even in his deepest nightmares and his men. The other is wearing threadbare clothing, repeatedly mended and not of the finery James has seen Nero in. His dark hair hangs loose to his shoulders, ratty and unwashed. His brogue is deep as if he’s from one of the surrounding kingdoms.

“Don’t touch that,” he grumbles. “Unless you want your death!”

James continues to observe this fearsome creature as they pass his hiding place, wondering what Nero offered. It’s no matter; the prince just needs to evade them until he reaches the edge of the forest and can find his way to Duke Marcus’ fortress.

The outsider of the group stops suddenly and sniffs the dank air that lingers around them, searching for something. James stills, covering the lower portion of his face with one of his hands, watching.

For the briefest of moments, the man seems to look directly at the prince before muttering to himself and moving on.

James releases a shuddering breath and slowing climbs to his feet. As quietly as he can manage, he hurries away from his hiding place and deeper into the forest.

Once the prince is sure there is enough distance between himself and Ayel’s men, he breaks into a run. He barely feels the branches scratching his skin and tugging at his clothing. So long as James can get away, a tiny bit of bloodshed isn’t much to whine about.

“Gotcha!” someone yells as they grab James by the bicep and slams him into a hollowed out stump.

His vision sparks with white light and his head aches anew. James is spun around to face his captor only to find himself staring into the face of the outsider. “Help me!” he cries. “Will you help me? Please? The King…he’s going to kill me.”

“Sure he is,” the man scoffs, pulling on the prince’s arm. “He’s going to kill the lot of us with his magical powers.”

James scrambles, trying to free himself from the stranger’s grasp. “He’s going to rip out my heart!” He watches the disbelieving expression wash away from the man’s face into something unreadable.

“Quick work, McCoy!” Ayel calls, stepping through the muck to get to them. “Well done. Nero shall be pleased…now hand him over.”

The prince makes a terrified sound, drawing the man called McCoy’s attention. He meets his hazel eyes as his own fill with tears.

“What do you intend to do with him?” he asks.

Ayel makes an impatient gesture. “Why does it matter to you?”

“If you want him, give me what I was promised,” McCoy growls, tightening his hand on James’ arm so much that the prince is sure it will leave bruises.

“You did your job well, McCoy,” Ayel reasons as the other men come up behind him. “Now, it would be wise if you kept your word.”

James tugs, trying to ignore that his entire body is shaking in fear. “He’ll kill us both,” he insists to the stranger. “He will.”

“Shut up!” Ayel orders with a hiss.

“He’s going to betray you!” James says urgently as he tries to pull away. “He will! He will!”

Ayel starts to charge them, only stopping when the stranger holds up his sword at chest level. “Leonard McCoy,” he states coolly, holding up his hands. “My brother has many powers. He can take life away or sustain it, but Nero cannot bring your wife back from the dead.”

There is a sudden shift and James finds himself being thrown to the ground as this man, Leonard McCoy, shouts, “Run!”

So he does, running through the forest as a fight raging on between his savior and Ayel’s men. He can hear the clashing of swords and the death rattles that rise from their throats.

Ayel is screaming at the stranger, cursing him and the prince. It causes James to cease running and pause, wondering what has become of the man.

 _What a strange turn of events_ , he thinks as a large hand comes out of nowhere and clamps itself over his mouth. James screams, the sound muffled, as he is shoved into a tree. He catches the stranger staring down at him, gesturing for the prince to be silent.

“I am going to remove my hand and you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on,” he says quietly. One by one his fingers leave James’ face. “Who are you?”

James swallows before speaking. “Nero wants everyone dead,” he hisses.

“What else is new?” the man grouses. He pokes at the prince’s shoulder. “What makes you so damn valuable?”

“You should know,” James snaps back. “ _You’re_ the one hunting _me_!”

The stranger rolls his eyes and reaches into his satchel where he pulls out a flask. “Forget it,” he grumbles, undoing the top and taking a drink. “Serves me right for getting involved with the king’s business.” He starts walking away, muttering to himself.

“Wait!” the prince shouts, rushing after him. “Where are you going?”

The man turns around, his face full of irritation at the points at the prince. “Getting away from you,” he declares. “You’re trouble is what you are and I’ll have none of it! It’s hard enough being me as it already is!”

“Please don’t leave me!” James urges, following the man. “I need to get to Duke Marcus’ fortress. There’s an army there.”

The man laughs and takes another drink. “Oh, _that_ army? A bunch of farmers with milkmaids and pitchforks? I know sheep that have more fight in them, kid.”

“I’m valuable,” the prince says.

“Obviously if Nero wants you,” the stranger deadpans. “Just for argument’s sake, how much of a reward would I get if I were to deliver you to Duke Marcus?”

James shrugs. “However much is enough, I suppose.”

“ _At least_ thirty gold pieces,” the man comments.

“You’ll get more than that; one hundred,” James assures, licking his lips. “But only _if_ you help me.”

The man frowns for a moment before spitting into his hand and extending it for James to shake. “I don’t trust you,” he declares as their hands touch. “But you have yourself a deal. I’m McCoy…Leonard McCoy.”

“Jim,” the prince replies, feeling a bit better of his circumstances. At least he has a better shot of making it to safety with Leonard by his side. “Lead the way, Bones.”

Leonard raises a brow. “Bones?”

“I heard you…before,” James stammers in explanation. He sighs and mimics the older man, “Do as I do and you may live through this unless you want your brains eaten by banshees or your bones crushed by trolls!”

The older man isn’t amused and shakes his head. “I don’t sound like that,” he grumbles as he starts to walk.

“You kind of do,” James says quietly before following after him.

 

* * *

 

Richard goes straight to Alexander’s tent when he arrives back at the fortress, not bothering to make himself presentable.

The information he carries is vital and must be delivered as soon as he is able; neither Christopher or Alexander will mind his unkempt state. Inside, the dukes are conferring over a map until a porter announces Richard’s presence. Both men look shocked to see their friend standing in front of him.

“Richard!” Christopher exclaims as he rushing to greet him. “They said you and your son were taken!”

He swallows roughly, nodding. “Nero…” he begins to say. “He cannot be stopped. Death does not touch him! My boy stabbed him with a dagger and it did nothing…”

“What do you say?” Alexander gasps. “Is it the work of dark magic?”

Richard shakes his head in agreement. “Or Nero is the devil himself,” he states. “There’s more, friends. Much more and it is a beacon of hope. The prince—he’s alive. I saw him with my own eyes!”

“James?” Christopher and Alexander croak, both of them shocked. They exchange a glance before the latter speaks, “Are you certain?”

“He was the spitting image of King George,” Richard replies. “And he has his mother’s will. I swear it upon my own life that the lad I saw was Prince James.”

Alexander goes to sit. “My god,” he whispers. “Nero has kept him all these years…”

“Kept who, father?”

The three men turn to see the Lady Carol coming into the tent, wearing mail and her pale blonde hair plaited down her back. Only a fool would say that the Duke’s daughter is not a beauty; she has the grace of her deceased mother and the shrewd mind of her father.

If memory serves Richard well, Carol is one of the army’s most skilled archers and quite fearsome in combat.

She searches each man’s face with her strangely colored eyes; one green like a field in spring and the other as blue as the sky on a clear day.

Alexander bristles at his daughter’s appearance. “Carol,” he says, exasperated. “You ventured beyond the walls again, didn’t you?”

Richard watches as she rolls her eyes. “Father,” the lady sighs as if this offense is nothing. “I am one of the best fighters there are. Your worries should be placed elsewhere. Now, who has been kept?”

“We have received word of the prince,” Christopher replies, his voice low.

The lady’s reaction is just what Richard, and perhaps her father, expected. Carol’s face pales as her eyes widen in disbelief. “James?” she gasps. “He lives?”

“He escaped the castle and into the dark forest,” Richard adds. “That is all I know, my lady.”

Carol pushes a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “I must go after him,” she declares, turning on her feet and exiting the tent.

Alexander is right behind her with Richard and Christopher following. “Carol! We don’t know if he survived! Carol, darling, listen to me!”

“What is it?” she snaps, as she quickly removes her mail with the aid of one of her ladies in waiting. “If you are here to dissuade me, you should save your words, father. I am going!”

The duke grabs his daughter’s elbow and turns her towards him before she can walk away. “You’re all that’s left, Carol!” he exclaims. “Don’t you understand? I cannot afford to lose anyone else,  _especially_ my only child!”

Carol removes her arm from her father’s grasp and shakes her head. “I’ll go alone,” she replies coolly.

“But you don’t know the dark forest!”

“Then I’ll find someone who does,” Carol argues back as she makes her way to the fortress. “I will not abandon Jim for the second time!”

So it’s decided.

 

* * *

 

Nero waits until it’s just he and Ayel in the throne room. 

He already knows by the nervous glint in his brother’s eyes that James has managed to avoid capture once again. “Tell me,” the king states.

“The Huntsman betrayed us,” his brother replies bitterly. “Undoubtedly wooed by the prince’s plight and promises of gold.”

The king nods, running his fingernail over the curve of his throne. “And what will you, brother?”

“I am going to assemble another group of men to go after them,” Ayel declares, approaching the throne where he kneels at Nero’s feet. “And I will bring you the boy.”

Nero leans forward. “Choose your men wisely, brother dearest,” he warns as he caresses Ayel’s jaw. “Or James will not be the only one to feel my wrath.”

“Yes,” his brother agrees. “Thank you.”

He watches Ayel’s retreat, wondering if he should take matters into his own hands. Perhaps he can afford to give his brother one more chance…

…before he conjures the darkest of magic to consume James’ heart once and for all.


	3. Chapter 3

James has no idea how long they’ve been walking, but he does know without any sort of uncertainty that Leonard is not sober.

He watches the huntsman drink from his flask more times than the prince can keep track of. It’s a beaten thing, made of silver with a worn leather band around the middle. Perhaps it was once a fine gift, but now it’s as threadbare as Leonard.

“Why do you drink so much?” James questions as they trample over fallen brush and twigs.

The Huntsman makes an irritable sound. “Why not?” he replies, snappishly. “Everything around us is dying and I have little fancy to see its demise, might as well speed up the process.”

“Is it to numb sorrow?” the prince presses on.

Leonard turns around with a furious mask over his features. “And what would a boy like you know of sorrow?” he snaps, waving the flask in James’ face.

The prince looks down and shakes his head, afraid to say anything that may reveal his identity. While the Huntsman is helping him, James is unsure if he can trust Leonard.

“That’s what I thought,” the older man says, victorious.

They continue on, making their way through the dark forest. It’s nearly nightfall and James’ body aches from all of the physical activity. He’s hungry and exhausted, but he doesn’t dare tell Leonard that.

The Huntsman is a strange one, James reckons, and almost as mysterious as the forest they walk in. He’s a handsome man under all of that grime, there’s no doubt about that and strong bodied. He is broader than James, though his waist tapers some, and his skin is golden despite the absence of the sun. Perhaps once, long ago, he had a beautiful smile that made his eyes light up.

James is so deep inside his own head that he doesn’t realize he’s tumbling to the ground, landing hard on his knees before collapsing onto his stomach. He groans as pain spikes, earning Leonard’s attention.

“Oh hell, boy!” the older man curses as he rushes over to assist.

The Prince attempts to push him away. “I’m fine,” he insists, pawing at Leonard with clumsy hands. “I can keep going.”

“Look at me,” Leonard demands, his hand clamping onto James’ face. He turns the younger man towards him and shakes his head. “Why didn’t you tell me you were tired?”

James frowns with the last of his strength. “I just need to sit down for a moment,” he protests.

“You _need_ to rest,” the huntsman counters as he slips one of the prince’s arms over his shoulder and helps him to his feet, watching as the young man wavers. “When’s the last time you ate or drank?”

The prince’s silence is telling enough and he finds himself being hauled into a rather dark cave. Before he has time to do anything, Leonard sets James on a boulder. “I’m fine,” he says weakly.

“You stay here,” the Huntsman orders.

“How do I know that you won’t leave me?” James pointedly asks.

Leonard stares at him, his mouth working in a struggle to find an answer. James raises an exhausted brow and waits with far more patience than the older man possesses.

“I suppose I haven’t given you a reason to trust me,” the man states as he sifts through his things. He squats down, holding out a water skin for James to take. “Have some of this. I reckon it will do you some good while I savage around for firewood and food.”

Rather than argue, the prince does what he is told and drinks. The water is a bit warm, but it fulfills its purpose. Once he’s had his fill, James sets the skin down and closes his eyes, listening to the huntsman’s muttering and heavy footfalls from beyond the mouth of the cave.

He doesn’t drop off entirely, for fear that he will wake alone. Leonard must realize this because he comes back to sporadically check on him.

“Do you reckon you can start a fire?” he asks, causing James to open his eyes.

The prince nods and makes his way to his hands and knees. He stands, swaying heavily until Leonard grabs his arm to keep James from toppling over. The huntsman mutters more curses.

“I’m fine,” the prince snaps and goes to a small pile of twigs and dried up grass. He’s had worse supplies in his cell and goes about making a fire.

Leonard wanders off again, only coming back once the fire is going. He is carrying some game and roots in his hand when he stalks in, dumbfounded. “Well,” the Huntsman says, scratching his head. “You may survive just yet. Rest your eyes now, I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready.”

James doesn’t argue as exhaustion is truly settling into his bones. He goes to lay down near the fire, relishing the warmth it produces and falls asleep before he can stop himself.

He has nightmares of the night Nero slew his mother in their marital bed and how James found her lifeless corpse when the first wave of dark soldiers entered the castle.

He remembers her dead eyes staring at him and the pool of blood soaking through the material of her nightgown. He hears Ayel’s laughter and the unforgiving grasp of one of his men as James was hauled down to the fray.

James sees Carol on horseback, clinging to her father as she screams for the prince with tears running down her face.

Someone tries to rescue James, but they too are slaughtered and their blood coats the sleeve of his nightshirt.

And there is Nero, the man who had charmed him and his mother and told James that he too had felt the loss of losing a parent. _You and I are bound_ , he whispers into the prince’s ear as the maids finished the last adjustments to his wedding robes. _I feel it…it’s in your heart._

His expression gives way to pure evil, of death, of darkness, as he reaches for James. His fingertips graze his chest, his lips pulling into a malicious grin and the prince screams.

James is still screaming when Leonard shakes him back to wakefulness. He is clawing at the huntsman’s arms while his legs kick up dirt.

“Hey!" Leonard shouts, pinning the prince down before he causes further injury to either of them. “Hey! It’s just me.”

He blinks, releasing unshed tears, and stares up at the Huntsman, whose face glows by firelight. Leonard falls back on his heels and watches James as he sits up, trying to catch his breath.

“Drink this,” the Huntsman urges, passing the younger man his flask. “Go on…it will do you a world of good.”

The liquor burns James’ mouth and throat before settling in his stomach. He coughs and gives the flask back to its owner, only to have a skewer of game given to him. “Thank you,” James tells Leonard.

While he is grateful for some food, the prince is even more grateful that the Huntsman doesn’t ask him a single question.

 

* * *

 

Ayel is readying himself when a hooded figure approaches his hunting party, comprised of the lowest excuses of human beings he has ever laid eyes on.

They had asked him no questions like the huntsman had and only wanted their award of fifty gold pieces for their task.

“Are you looking for a bowman?” the hooded figure asks in a delicate voice. They stand several paces away from the group, wearing a black cloak that is soaked with rain. A bow satchel made of tan leather crosses their chest and the bow itself, a finely crafted piece, is in their gloved hand.

The commander glances up and scowls. “I already have a bowman,” he replies, dismissively.

“I see that,” the hooded figure says. “I can also tell you he is not as good as I.”

Ayel catches a lock of pale blonde hair and chuckles. “Go along, young lady,” he taunts darkly. “Go home and play with your dolls and needlepoint. The dark forest is no place for the likes of you.”

The figure does not move, only staring at Ayel with an icy gaze that would set some on edge. There is something about her pale eyes that is unique and haunting, but this bold woman is also wasting precious time.

“Kill her,” the commander mutters to his bowman.

Before the man can even set an arrow in the quiver, he is struck down. An arrow is protruding from his neck as he lies in the muck and mud.

“I said,” the figure declares, stripping her hood from her head and revealing a frown that makes Ayel rethink his decision. “Do you need a bowman?”

 

* * *

 

Leonard watches James as he wanders several paces ahead of him.

The lad whom he guesses to be eighteen is a strange one. Stubborn and willful, yet haunted by demons that someone that young has no right seeing. He is secretive about them and Leonard doesn’t pry; things are uncomfortable enough already.

It’s a mercy that James rebounded as quickly as he did with some rest and nourishment, so Leonard would like to put as much distance between them and Nero’s brother.

The young man takes in their surroundings with much curiosity and excitement, as if he hasn't been outdoors in a long while. His golden hair is cut short, though still long enough to be wild, and has fair skin that carries several scars on his face.

Leonard thinks he’s a good-looking lad, strapping if he gained a few pounds, but his eyes give him a surreal beauty that not even the huntsman can ignore. They are blue, far bluer than any shade Leonard has encountered in a single person. They rival the skies above and the ocean on a clear day.

His eyes match the petals of the rose, Tiberius, so fair and bewitching that flower was. It used to bloom all over the kingdom, surviving the coldest winters and the hottest summers.

Now it’s nowhere to be found, not since the start of Nero’s reign.

“Bones,” James calls. He is holding a twig in his hand and tapping against the palm of the other. “How much longer before we reach the edge?”

Leonard rolls his eyes at the nickname. “We should cross into it well before nightfall,” he replies. “And you know my name.”

“But I like Bones better,” the young man teases with a grin.

The huntsman frowns. “And what is wrong with the name my mother gave me on my name day?”

“The other suits you,” James singsongs, turning his back to Leonard. He starts humming as they walk, a low melody of a lullaby.

Leonard does not stop him, for it reminds him of Jocelyn, who used to sing while she worked around their cottage and never hurt a single soul. “Jim,” he says. “Come here, I need to show you something.”

There is a panicked glint in the lad’s eyes, of abuse and betrayal, and it makes the huntsman’s heart ache.

“You’ll need to be able to protect yourself,” he explains, taking a dagger out from his belt and placing it into James’ hand. Leonard grasps the younger man’s wrist and pulls him closer.

He hears James’ gasp and finds himself lost in the blue of his irises. Leonard feels as if he has stepped into the clearest spring, those water runs warm when it touches his skin. “Which is your lead foot?” the Huntsman asks.

The lad’s mouth moves wordlessly before James shakes his head, his expression uncertain. Leonard lunges at him, startling the young man to move.

“Right,” Leonard declares. “Now if someone comes at you, you raise this arm up.” He demonstrates by moving James’ arm, blocking his downward swing. “You block and use your strength against them, you hear?”

James stares deep into his eyes, nodding in acknowledgment of the huntsman’s instructions.

“You wait until you’re close and you drive it through their heart…to the hilt,” Leonard continues on. “You understand? Do not hesitate and you look in their eyes…don’t pull it out until you see their soul.”

The young man pales as the huntsman lets go of him, stepping back. “I couldn’t do that,” he stammers.

“Well, Jim,” Leonard sighs. “There will come a time where you might not have a choice.”

They continue on in silence. Every so often, he glances in James’ direction to make sure his charge isn’t faltering from lack of rest or water.

Several hours pass and they come to a stone bridge that is crumbled in the middle, giving way to debris and plants that come up through the cracks. It’s green, unlike the charred appearance of the dark forest, and full of life.

“We’ve come to the edge,” James comments as they stare at the bridge and the river below it. He turns to Leonard with a smile. “This is good!”

The huntsman shrugs and keeps an ear out, not trusting their too quiet surroundings. “Almost too good, if you ask me,” he mumbles as he pushes James behind him. “Stay close.”

Their steps towards the bridge are cautious. Leonard reckons he may be a bit paranoid, but it’s best to be safe than someone’s dinner.

At least James doesn’t question him.

They are at the beginning of the bridge when he hears something, causing the huntsman to turn around with his weapons out.

“What?” the young man asks, sounding nervous.

“Hush,” Leonard hisses.

As soon as his voice dies, the Huntsman is side swept by a mighty force that knocks the wind out of him. James shouts that ridiculous nickname just as the identity of his attacker makes itself known.

“Troll!” he yells, rolling out of the way one a gigantic fist. “Jim, run!”

The rest of their fight is short-lived, as the troll smacks Leonard from where he stands and into the river below. The force of the blow knocks him unconscious, plunging the huntsman into a watery grave.

He isn’t aware of another jumping in after him and swimming through the depths to grab Leonard by the waist.

Or how James pulls him to safety, dropping them on the shore, far away from the troll who has lost interest in the trespassers.

Leonard wakes to the press of James’ lips against him, breathing life back into him. He can taste the younger man’s mouth and all its sweetness before the huntsman coughs. The lad turns him to his side and rubs Leonard back as he expels fluid from his lungs.

“I told you to run,” he rasps as James eases him onto his back once more. He feels something wet against his hairline, thick and slow moving. Leonard goes to touch it, only to have the young man bat his hand away.

“Don’t touch it,” James orders. He pulls his sleeve down to cover his palm and gently presses it against the huntsman’s forehead. “You’re bleeding.”

Leonard grunts in pain. “I told you to run,” he repeats as James dabs his sleeve against the wound. “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

“You’d be dead if I listened,” the young man states, keeping his eyes on Leonard’s injury. He glances at the older man and offers him a soft smile.

He has no idea what possesses him when he reaches for James, bringing him down so that their lips touch once again. It is sweet and gentle, far more gentle than the Huntsman is used to.

He has dallied with men in his youth, long before Jocelyn came into his life and even some after. Something about _this_ tells the huntsman that it’s no dalliance. That his companion makes him feel… _alive_ , more alive than he’s felt in years.

Leonard feels the younger man stiffen in surprise and pulls away to see his face. James looks awestruck and wide-eyed as if he’s never kissed another before. It occurs to the older man that this is probably the case and it warms him to his core.

“Why did you stop?” the younger man questions, licking his lips nervously.

Leonard chuckles and pulls him back, opening the lad’s mouth with lips and tongue. He tastes the slickness and feels plush flesh against his teeth as the Huntsman seeks more. James groans, the sound curling from deep within, and follows the older man’s lead until they part for breath.

“It’s late,” the huntsman whispers. “Let us seek shelter before indulging.”

 

* * *

 

James finds himself under Leonard’s attention as they lie on a thin mattress comprised of grass and pelts that were in the huntsman’s bag. 

Their soaking wet clothing is near the fire, hanging on a makeshift line so that they dry, while they move against each other. He grasps the older man’s shoulder and throws his head back as Leonard’s cock drives deeper into him. James swears that his skin has become too hot, too constricting. He wants to crawl out of it and into the Huntsman, where he will most certainly be protected and nurtured.

“Ah!” James cries out at a sudden spark that runs down his spine. “Right here…Bones!”

Leonard chuckles and goes to kiss him, his hair providing a dark curtain between them and the world outside. His hips keep moving, seeking that one place that lights the prince up. 

He is gentle with the younger man, having deduced that James has never lain with anyone or been kissed until Leonard came along. The prince recalls his patience as the Huntsman opened him up, using a salve from his bag, which mercifully was knocked aside during their escapade with the troll.

James stared up at him as Leonard prepared him for their coupling, watching as the younger man’s body swallowed his fingers in want. The Huntsman encouraged the cries of pleasure the prince made, leaning in to kiss his mouth open when he shut it.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured into James’ ear. “Please…don’t hold back.”

So he didn’t and the cave in which they took refuge in was soon filled his voice and of Leonard’s when he pushed into the prince.

Leonard’s chest heaves against his own, the touch of bare skin only adding to James’ ecstasy. He reaches between them to caress the Huntsman, feeling his muscles working against the palm of his hand. When the older man groans, the rumble travels up James’ arm and settles in his chest.

“Bones,” the prince breathes, moving his hand down to his length that’s caught between their bodies. As soon as he touches himself, James arches his back with a moan. “I need…”

The older man, now his lover, hushes him, nipping at his jaw. “I know,” he assures. “I know what you need, Jim.”

“I know you do,” the younger man tells him in a moment of lucidity, staring him directly in the eyes.

It’s a charged moment and it resonates with both men, even when James falls apart as Leonard continues thrusting into him. He orgasm burns hotly on his stomach and his body feels like the tension that’s built up over the last ten years is gone, vanished because of the Huntsman.

“Jim,” Leonard moans as his body stiffens and he fills the prince with his release. He moves in small increments until the huntsman ceases all motion and lets out a content sigh.

The prince catches Leonard’s smile as he rolls off of him and lies next to James, still breathing heavily. He doesn’t know what to expect of his lover, as he has absolutely no experience save for the crude comments and glances from Nero’s men.

But that smile is nothing like what James has seen; it is filled with affection and kindness.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” the huntsman inquires as he shifts to his side and drapes an arm over the prince’s stomach.

His fingers tease the ridges of James’ abdomen, causing him to squirm. “No,” the younger man replies, taking hold of Leonard’s hand. “I just didn’t expect this to happen when we first met.”

“Mmm,” the Huntsman agrees as he leans down to press his lips against the prince’s collarbone. “Indeed. I am glad I listened to you, my darling.”

James goes to brush an errant lock of hair off Leonard’s forehead, grinning at the way he acts. It reminds him of one of the stable cats that used to lazy around in the afternoon sun, content to allow him and Carol to stroke its soft fur.

“You look sad,” Leonard comments.

“I am thinking of old memories,” he replies.

The older man is stoic for a moment before a devious grin breaks out across his face. “Allow me to ease your mind,” he teases, pressing his lips thrice more into James’ skin before their mouths are inches apart.

“If you insist,” the prince intones, reaching for him.

 

* * *

 

James wakes from a night of deep, dreamless sleep in the arms of his lover.

It’s a strange thing to realize as he stretches against Leonard and adjusts his head on the older man’s bicep before closing his eyes once more. The huntsman is still resting, though he unconsciously flexes the arm that is snug around the prince’s waist.

He is glad that their clothing was dried by the time they bathed in a nearby creek and ate dinner. The morning air is chilly and James doesn’t want to think of how it would feel against his bare skin.

Leonard grunts, puffing hot air onto the back of his neck. It makes the prince grin to know that the huntsman is there to protect him. “Is it morning already?” the older man grumbles thickly.

James nods, pushing back into Leonard’s embrace. “Can’t we stay here for a while longer?”

“We shouldn’t delay in making our way to Duke Marcus’ fortress,” his lover tells him. “Besides, I would like to have you in a proper bed while the fire roars across the room.”

“I could be lying on stone slabs and it would still feel like a feather mattress because you are here,” the younger murmurs, much to the huntsman’s amusement.

Leonard turns James over and kisses him in greeting. “I want to ensure your safety, my darling,” he says, caressing the prince’s cheek.

“Then we should make haste,” James whispers as he moves closer to Leonard for warmth and affection.

They rise from their makeshift bed and set about dismantling their camp so there is no trace of them. Once Leonard is satisfied, they begin their journey while having a breakfast of berries and water. The first half of their day is uneventful, though conversation flows more easily between the two men. James surmises it’s because they’ve been intimate, breaking down all their walls, and have learned to trust one another.

It is midafternoon when they come to a fork in the road, where Leonard stops them to gauge his surroundings. “This way,” he tells James, holding out his hand for him to take.

They only make it a few paces before they are attacked. The bandits appear out of thin air and are on them before James can shout in warning. One of them seizes him first, knocking him to the ground with a blow to the head. James falls without a sound and lands in an ungraceful heap, the world spinning around him.

He hears Leonard fighting them, hurling curses and punches until he is forced to the ground with his arms held behind his back. With his vision going hazy, James turns to look at him.

“Ah, McCoy,” one of them says. “Been wonderin’ when I’d see the likes of you. Where’s my money!”

The huntsman snarls like a trapped animal. “Piss it away right before I bash your face in, Scotty!” he snaps, flailing against the forest floor.

Scotty, one of the bandits, must kick him for Leonard wheezes. “Come again?” he taunts. “Search the lot of them.”

James does little in protest of being pat down by the bandits. One of them turns him over and his stomach quickly revolts at the sudden movement. The prince barely has time to turn his head before he vomits onto leaves and dirt.

“Jim!” Leonard shouts, panicked. “If you hurt him, I’ll make it the last thing you do!”

“He’s got nothing,” one of them declares. “One silver coin and an empty flask.”

Scotty grumbles while another bandit speaks up. “Two days we sit here and what for? Nothing!”

“I told you we should have stayed by the river,” another hisses. “This was a waste of time!”

There is arguing until a bandit, a woman much to James’ surprise, cuts in. “We should chop them up and feed them to the wolves!”

“No!” Leonard cries. “No, Nyota, no! I have to take him to Marcus! He’s not safe here…”

The woman, Nyota, snorts. “Oh, well, my heart bleeds for you, McCoy.”

“He’s worth a lot of gold,” the huntsman says quickly. “If you let us pass without further trouble, I’ll be more than happy to share it with you.”

Leonard is assaulted again, grunting out in protest.

“Gold is worth nothing to you if we’re all dead,” James manages to slur. “The king’s men are hunting us!”

The bandit closest to him nudges the prince with his boot. “Shut up, boy!”

“You have love for the king,” the young man questions, his voice distant to his own ears.

Scotty scoffs at this statement. “Oh, we have no love for Nero!”

“And no love for darkness either,” Nyota added.

“Then you fight against him,” James replies.

Someone yanks him by his hair, setting off the throbbing in his head. James finds himself looking into the murky blue eyes of a man whose face is half covered by a beard. “No one fights against Nero, boy,” he growls. “We lost everything when the queen died and now we only fight for ourselves.”

“My mother was Queen Winona,” the lad declares, silencing everyone.

The man who has hold of him gapes at James as another comes up behind him. This man has the palest skin that the prince has ever laid eyes upon, almost green, with black hair looks so severe against it. His features are angular, like an elf or fairy from the fairytales his parents used to read to James as a child.

“Spock, does he speak the truth?”

This man, Spock, kneels down so he can peer into James’ dazed face. His eyes are dark like Nero’s, but hold a warmth that puts the prince’s mind at ease.

He knows in the depths of his bones that this man, this Spock, will not harm him.

“Yes, he is of the blood,” Spock tells the group. “He is the son of Queen Winona and King George.”

It is the last thing James hears before he tumbles into the abyss that awaits him.


	4. Chapter 4

Carol watches her comrades from a distance.

She doesn’t dare get too close to them for fear that she’ll slit every single one of their throats. The men, all grotesque beyond Carol’s comprehension, are laughing around the fire and drinking from their flasks. To them, this is a merry excursion rather than sending a boy to his death. It’s just as well that they don’t speak to her. After killing the previous bowman, the men view Carol with a certain type of awe and jealousy. They realize that she is no wilting flower or damsel in distress, but a formidable warrior.

Her father and Duke Pike taught her well, almost too well.

Keeping a sharp pair of eyes on the group, Carol takes a sip from her flask and sighs as the whiskey burns within. It’s identical to her will to find James and rescue him from these monsters.

 _Poor Jim,_ she thinks. Carol remembers the night of Nero’s siege as if it was yesterday. The bloodshed and shouting as people were slain, the laughter of the king’s men as they fought their way through the castle, the horror on James’ face as she and her father rode off into the darkness.

 _There’s nothing we can do,_ Alexander had said much later, once they were safely ensconced in his fortress. _He is lost to us._

Carol didn’t speak to her father for weeks, convinced that James was still alive and being held prisoner within the castle walls. It was a hope she held onto for many years, dreaming of the day she would be reunited with her dear friend and defeat Nero.

As it turns out, Carol had been correct for the most part.

She cannot begin to fathom the terror her friend has endured all these years and wonders what it has done to him. Carol realizes that the boy she left behind may no longer exist and it worries her.

Has the light that shone through James been extinguished or does it still burn as brightly as it did when they were children?

Or has he become a monster just like his step-father; a dark being living a half-life as the rest of the world falls into chaos?

She remembers his parents and realizes that there is no way that James could fall into darkness like Nero had. He is too much like his mother; too good, too caring, too pure.

“You are a strange one,” Ayel states in a slippery tone as he comes up to her. “So beautiful, yet so deadly.”

Carol narrows her eyes at him and takes another sip from her flask. “You must like toying with fire,” she retorts quietly.

“I’ve been accused of worse,” the man says offhandedly. He motions to the empty space on the log Carol sits upon and she nods. “But you, you are a mystery…”

She suppresses an eye roll. “We needn’t bother exchanging names, my lord,” Carol tells Ayel. “I am only here for the money and you here to do the king’s bidding.”

“You are most direct in what you say,” the commander replies, impressed. “And your words hold such conviction. Pray tell, is the money the only reason why you’re here?”

Carol gives Ayel a sidelong glance and deepens her glare. “If you must ask the question, then you already know the answer,” she answers cryptically.

“Does the opposite sex not appeal to you?” he asks, his lips quirking into an unctuous grin.

“No,” she says, remembering how Christopher had come to see her off before she departed. He made her promise to stay safe and gave her a kiss. “It is you who do not interest me.”

Ayel’s flirtatious expression darkens into a frown, giving Carol great joy.

“You must not receive rejection often,” she continues. “Tell me, my lord, is this when you force yourself upon me and make me beg for it?” Carol laughs cruelly. “I can tell you now that I will _never_ beg, nor will I allow you the chance to have me, for I will kill you before your breeches are unlaced.”

The commander’s complexion lightens at her words and he slowly rises to go back to the others. His eyes leave Carol’s face in an effort to hide his anger and fear.

That knowledge keeps her warm as she drifts off to a light sleep later that night.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t dream while he’s unconscious, a strange occurrence to be sure.

James’ sleep has always been plagued by nightmares or dreams that turn into the former, ever since Nero made him an orphan. He always wakes with a scream on the tip of his tongue or the urge to flee, even in Leonard’s arms.

The room around him is comfortable, neither too hot or too cold. It reminds him of balmy spring afternoons when he and Carol would wander through meadows and play by creeks, making sailboats from twigs and crowns from flowers.

The birds would watch over them, singing a sweet song as the children played until it was time to go back to the castle.

Days like those were so long ago, turned into ash like the rest of the kingdom.

He opens his eyes, slowly and one by one, to see the ceiling of a tent and a lantern that hangs from above. James stares at it, curiously, and wonders how Leonard acquired such accommodations.

Beyond the canvas flaps, the prince hears the crackle of a fire and voices that converse quietly. All of this is very strange and James struggles to remember how his current circumstances came to pass.

He recalls arguing and Leonard pleading with someone to allow him and the prince safe passage. James remembers that his head throbbed fiercely, though it does not pain him now, and how he told them he was the queen’s son.

And there had been a man. A man who looked him in the eyes and declared that James’ claim was one of truth.

Then it was followed by darkness.

Someone is snoring softly and shifts their body, causing the prince to rise on his elbows. He sees Leonard sleeping upright and his lower half covered by a blanket.

The Huntsman wears different clothing, ones that are more suited for the weather. His skin appears cleaner than before as if someone allowed him a proper bath rather than a quick soak in a nearby creek. Everything about him is different: from his dark hair that falls in soft waves to his posture.

“You’re awake,” declares a woman. She sounds eternally patient, though James detects an underlying menace that makes one want to buckle up and obey her.

He turns towards her voice and finds himself staring at a woman whose hair glows under the lantern light as she closes the tent opening.

The lady smiles at the prince as she approaches him and sets down a basket that is filled with bottles. “You will come to no harm here, your highness,” she says. “I am Christine. May I be seated?”

James nods, still apprehensive, and watches her closely as she sits at the edge of the cot that he sits upon. It is then that the prince realizes that he has been given the same treatment as the Huntsman, though he is not wearing a top to cover his chest. “Where is here?” he asks.

“Sanctuary,” Christine replies as she reaches for the basket and starts to look through its contents. “Tis a place beyond the dark forest, where Nero’s rule has not tainted it.”

“I wondered if there was such a place,” the prince comments, watching as Christine pulls out a bottle of clear liquid.

She grins. “It’s a miracle,” Christine tells him while she unstops the bottle and pours its contents into her palm. She rubs her hands together and then shakes them out. “May I examine you?”

“Of course,” James says. He finds that the lady’s touch is gentle and her hands warm. “Are you a healer?”

Christine shrugs. “I used to be,” she answers as she inspects the prince’s forehead. “Before Nero came to power. Geoffrey was one as well - he’s outside with the rest of them. We tried to continue our practices, but the king outlawed it.” Christine gives James a sad smile. “It is nothing compared to what you must have suffered.”

“I expected to wake with a headache,” the prince says in awe. “How long have I been in your company?”

She stands and goes a short distance to fetch him a mug filled with water. “Not for long, mayhap a half day,” Christine replies. She glances at Leonard. “I had to dose him with a bit of valerian in his ale. Your companion would have worked himself into quite a state and driven me mad as a result.”

James chuckles into the mug before drinking. “Bones can be excitable.”

“He was worried about you, your highness,” Christine states with a smile. “Scotty and Pavel had to keep him and Hikaru separated or they would have traded punches.”

The prince raises a questioning brow.

“Hikaru is the one responsible for your head ailment,” she adds. Christine goes to refill the mug in James’ hand. “He got overzealous when they came upon you two. I dare say, he is quite wroth with himself to have caused you injury.”

James nods as he gingerly touches his head, feeling for a lump, bruising, or a cut. To his great astonishment, there is none; not even an ounce of pain. It must show in the expression on his face for Christine laughs.

“You seem surprised,” she teases.

“I feel as if nothing has happened,” the prince tells her.

The lady looks pleased with herself. “Then I have done my duty,” Christine says as she rises. “You need something to eat. I shall be back in just a moment.”

James watches her go before turning his attention to Leonard, who continues to slumber on. He wonders if he should rouse the huntsman to ease his mind of the prince’s condition.

The prince removes the bedcovers and crawls across the cot to where the huntsman rests, freely gazing upon him. James reaches out to touch Leonard’s mouth, tracing his lips with the pad of his finger. The caress only causes a momentary scowl and the prince chuckles.

“You frown even in your sleep,” James whispers to the Huntsman. He leans forward and presses his lips to Leonard’s temple. “I am well, Bones. You needn’t worry anymore.”

The tent flaps move, signaling that they are no longer alone. With one last touch, James goes to eat.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, the prince learns that his new acquaintances, all seven of them, are not as fearsome as he originally believed them to be.

They are refugees, though it is clear that they do not seek help from the Dukes Marcus and Pike. Their home is within the wooded area known as Sanctuary, a place where dark is thwarted by light. Here fairies, moss tortoises, petal butteries, and other creatures roam freely. Their song twinkles sweetly and is carried by the wind. Sunlight peers through the leaves of trees whose branches grow higher than the eye can see and life is not stunted.

“Scotty used to be a merchant,” Pavel explains in a hushed voice as he cleans his weapons. He is the youngest of the lot, even younger than James by several years, and has been with the bandits for over a year after Geoffrey found him looking for scraps. “And Hikaru’s father was a sword maker.” Pavel points to a woman whose skin is dark like a walnut shell. “Nyota was an apprentice translator and storyteller before her village was attacked by Nero’s men.”

The prince gazes at her, watching as she converses with Christine. “He is a savage,” James mutters. Spock crosses his line of vision, walking through the camp as if he’s in a dream. “What about him?”

“Oh,” Pavel says, lowering his voice. “Spock is nearly the last of his kind.”

James nods. “I remember my father telling me about them,” he replies. “He is one of the mystics who hail from the Vulcan Mountains, isn’t he? That’s how he knew that I was the son of the queen!”

“Well, what’s left of the mountains,” the younger man mutters. “Nero attacked them some years ago and what he didn’t burn with fire, he slaughtered. Spock doesn’t talk about it much.”

“It’s little wonder as to why,” the prince sighs.

Pavel shrugs and goes to stand. “I must go with Hikaru and Geoffrey to hunt,” he declares with a dimpled grin. “If your huntsman wasn’t so protective of you, I reckon that you’d be able to come.”

“I don’t know how to hunt,” James admits.

The lad shrugs again. “Perhaps one day I shall teach you,” Pavel chirps before dashing off to join his friends.

James is envious of the younger man, who seems so sure of his place in the world. He has a legacy that has been taken from him and not much else.

“I was wondering when he would give you a moment’s peace,” Leonard whispers into the shell of the prince’s ear.

He grins. “Pavel was informing me of our new friends,” James tells him, turning his head. He stares at the huntsman’s lips and licks his own. “Knowledge is power.”

“Spoken like a royal,” the older man teases. He takes the prince by the hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come, we shall have some privacy in the tent.”

James follows, keeping his fingers laced with Leonard’s. “What of the others?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

“Pay no mind to them,” the Huntsman says. “I want to see with my own eyes that you are well.”

The younger man makes a face. “But Christine said…”

“ _With_ my own eyes,” Leonard repeats fiercely. There is a flash of possessiveness in his gaze as they make their way to the tent.

The bandits’ camp is mostly empty, save for Spock and Nyota, who are too deep in conversation to notice what their guests are doing.

James grins as the Huntsman pulls back one of the flaps, allowing him into the tent. They scramble inside and are on each other as soon as the canvas draws to a close. Leonard’s mouth is pressed against the prince’s jaw, wetting the skin with his tongue.

“What about your eyes?” the younger man whispers as his shirt is pulled from his breeches and dragged over his torso.

Leonard removes it and cups his face, kissing James with the hunger of a man who has nearly lost someone. The prince notices how the older man’s hands don’t leave his body, not even for a moment. “Shh,” the Huntsman chides, guiding the younger man towards the cot. “I will examine you any way I please.”

“Is that so?” James teases as he lands on the cot. He is touching Leonard’s hips, nudging them forward before untying his breeches.

The Huntsman nods, tilting the prince’s chin up to look into his eyes. “Only if it’s agreeable,” he whispers, swiping the pad of his thumb across James’ bottom lip.

“More than,” the younger man answers, catching Leonard’s thumb in his mouth. He licks the salt from the older man’s skin, looking up at him through thick eyelashes all the while.

They end up naked on the cot and hushing each other through sloppy kisses. Leonard has them both in hand as they rut their hips, creating delicious friction. James savors the feel of the huntsman’s cock rubbing against his own and the press of his naked body.

He feels the pull of his bollocks and a flush settling on his skin. James swallows back a cry as the Huntsman kisses his hairline and hurries the movement of his hand.

“I’m afraid I’ll scream,” the prince says hoarsely. He peers up at Leonard’s face, eyes glassy and love-stoned.

Without a word, the older man leans in and brings their mouths together just as their joint climax hits. James manages a sharp inhale of breath, digging his fingers into the meat of Leonard’s shoulder. His vision whites out, blinding him as if he has stared directly into the sun above, and slowly recedes.

Leonard is hovering over him, his face flushed and glistening with the sheen of sweat. “I believe that you are well,” he tells the prince.

James chuckles, dropping his head onto the cot. “I’ll let Christine know that I passed your assessment.”

The Huntsman kisses him in answer.

 

* * *

 

An uneventful two days pass and in Leonard’s opinion, it is quite welcomed.

He watches James flourish in the company of the bandits, who delight in the young prince’s presence. If they had any preconceived notions of how a royal would act, the Huntsman is certain that his lover has broken every single one of them.

The prince is kind and generous, for one. It pleases him to help their hosts, even if the task is small. He is usually in the company of the boy, Pavel, and watches him as the lad explains how to gather berries, make nets from vines, and so on. The prince follows Pavel around like a puppy, amazed by what the young man has been able to learn. It is apparent that James is not used to the company of one around his own age, for most of the bandits are at least five years older than he. Hell, the Huntsman is six years the prince’s senior. 

Leonard is convinced that there is a magic that follows the prince, touching every person he interacts with, and no one is immune. He hopes that whatever flame is within the prince, it will cause the end of Nero and restore the kingdom to its former glory.

He watches James sleep as they lie next to each other around the fire. The prince has the makings of a fine ruler in him and a wise one at that. Leonard is certain that his lover will be beloved by all his subjects, himself included. So he leans over and kisses the resting prince’s brow before retiring. The night passes quietly, save for the song of several species of nocturnal fairies.

The morning brings a strange and rare occurrence to make up for the last few days.

Leonard is shaken awake by Spock, who silently beckons him to follow. As he reaches for his ax, it is then the Huntsman realizes that James is missing. His heart leaps into his throat, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of panic.

“Fear not, Huntsman,” the Vulcan tells him. “Come and you will see.”

He follows Spock towards a lake where a large oak grows in the center. All of the inhabitants of the forest, the bandits included, are watching as James makes hesitant steps towards a white stag that resides under the tree.

It is a magnificent creature, whose horns resemble tree branches, and its pelt is as pure as freshly fallen snow. From Leonard’s vantage point, he can see that the animal’s eyes are as dark as a starless night.

“No, no, Huntsman!” Scotty exclaims as he grabs Leonard’s arm. “No one’s ever seen this before.”

James is closer to the stag, his hand only centimeters from the animal. His movements are slow, careful while the creature stands still and stares.

“What is that?” the Huntsman whispers, his eyes never leaving the prince nor his hand leaving his ax. His heart is pounding in his chest, ready for the worst to happen.

The prince reaches out and touches the stag’s muzzle, brushing his fingers against its fur. All around Leonard, the forest goes unnatural quiet as all its creatures watch the spectacle in front of them. Even the fairies are silent and perched upon various plants and larger animals to see what will transpire.

James chuckles, the sound carrying as he steps closer to the stag and strokes him as if he was a pet. The animal makes a pleased sound and indulges the prince, who whispers unintelligibly to him.

“That has never happened before,” Nyota says, awestruck.

A hoof claps against the ground and they all watch the stag back away from James’ ministrations to stare at the prince. As Leonard swallows, the creature goes to bow in front of the young man.

“White Heart bows before the prince,” Spock tells them in a dreamy whisper. “He is blessing him.”

Leonard turns to the mystic. “What are you talking about?”

“You have eyes, Huntsman, but you do not see,” the Vulcan states. “You, who have been with James the longest. He is life itself, he will heal the land.”

The Huntsman turns to James, who is now bowing at the stag.

“Can’t you feel it? Are your ailments not gone?” Spock continues as the stag brushes it muzzle back into the prince’s hand. “Gold or no gold, where James leads, I follow.”

Hikaru nods in agreement with Pavel following suit. “Aye,” they both say.

“I’m with you,” Christine declares as Geoffrey and Nyota nod their heads, the two of them too shocked to do much else.

Leonard is about to speak when the sound of an arrow cuts through the air and embeds itself in the stag. He watches in horror as the creature rears and explodes into a million white butterflies, leaving James unprotected in the center of the lake.

“Jim!” the huntsman shouts as he rushes towards his lover, shielding him from the enemy. He grabs the prince and takes him to the relative safety of the shoreline where the other bandits are fighting.

James is shaking as Pavel comes near. “The stag!” he cries, his face twisted in fear.

“Take him to safety,” Leonard orders before turning to the prince. “Go with Pavel, he will keep you from harm. We will follow.”

The prince goes to protest, but it’s cut short by Pavel yanking him away. The two of them run into the forest, disappearing through the lush greenery.

It has to be enough, for Leonard rushes into the fray where Ayel stands with his sword at the ready. The man leers at him, giving his pale face a devilish cast.

The commander charges after him, swinging his sword at Leonard’s neck. He blocks the hit and pushes Ayel away. The other man laughs and comes back for more with his weapon pointed at the huntsman’s chest. Leonard becomes aware of only the sound of metal clashing against each other and the silent mantra that runs through his head: never allowing Ayel to lay a single finger on James.

It must amuse the commander so, to see someone fight so viciously against him.

“I admire your fight, _Huntsman_ ,” Ayel snarls as he manages to block a blow that certainly would have killed him. “Your wife was the same. Jocelyn was her name, wasn’t it?”

Leonard growls at the commander even saying her name. “What do you know of my wife?”

“I remember them all,” the man taunts as the huntsman lunges at him. Ayel kicks his foot out, tripping Leonard and watches as he stumbles head first into a tree. “Every single one.” The commander presses the heel of his boot into the other man’s back and shoves him to the ground. “ _Especially_ the ones with fight!”

The Huntsman looks up in time to see a dagger coming at his neck. He throws his arm up and makes a grab for the weapon, only to have it cut his fingers.

“She screamed your name,” Ayel continues on, merciless with his words as he knees Leonard in the stomach. He watches the huntsman struggling for air. “Just like James will and you won’t be there to stop it.”

He raises his sword for the killing blow when Leonard jumps to his feet, taking Ayel with him as he charges towards a splintered stump. The huntsman feels the brush of wood and the hot spray of blood as the commander is impaled.

Leonard steps back to see the look of surprise on Ayel’s face as he stares at his enemy.

“Brother,” the man whispers, his voice rattling with death. “Heal me…”

 

* * *

 

The king’s powers are waning as James travels further and further away from him, causing Nero to appear older.

And the lack of energy allows him to feel Ayel’s pain before he sees it flash before his eyes. He drops his quill, splitting black ink amongst his papers as he drops to the stone floor.

The Huntsman appears in his vision, rage fueling his actions as he impales the king’s brother. It was something that Ayel said; a boast, a taunt, something that lit a fire within the young man and caused the brothers’ pain.

He clutches his stomach, gasping and trying to cry out as agony pulses within him. Nero crawls towards the mirror, his fingernails scraping against stone when he hears his brother’s plea.

_Brother, heal me._

Nero cries furious tears of mourning as Ayel’s strength is drained from him. “Forgive me, my heart,” he whispers, pained by his helplessness. “Please forgive me.”

He glances up at the mirror and swears he sees his brother reaching out to him one last time as he says, “I feel…”

“ _No_!” Nero shrieks.

 

* * *

 

James runs behind Pavel, uncertain of where they are headed. His body may ache for their rapid pace, but it’s his heart that worries the prince the most. 

He worries for Leonard’s welfare and prays that he is able to meet them once Ayel and his men are defeated.

If they are defeated.

A man, both large and skeletal, who the prince recognizes as Kodos leaps out of the threes and knocks him to the ground. They land with a thud and the young man finds himself pinned to dead leaves.

“What have we here?” Kodos sneers as a gloved finger runs over James’ cheek. “A runaway.”

The prince squirms under him, trying to throw punches to knock the man off of him. Kodos only laughs at James’ attempts as he takes a knife from his belt.

“I know that the king wanted you alive, but he never said what condition you should be in,” he tells the prince, his sour breath traveling over his skin.

Just as he goes to cut James’ collarbone, an arrow implants itself in Kodos’ neck. The prince cries out and pushes the dying the man off of him. As he scrambles to his hands and knees, someone grabs his elbow and James shrieks, flipping them over so he can punch them the way Scotty taught him how.

“Jim!” shouts a woman’s voice. “Jim! It’s me!”

He drops his arm, bewildered, and watches as the stranger turns out not to be a stranger, but a long lost friend. “Carol?” James whispers as she removes her hood, seeing her pale blonde hair and more grown-up face. “What?”

“Not enough time to explain,” she says as she pushes James off of her and helps him to his feet. Carol gives him a quick once as Pavel comes out of the bushes. “Friend of yours?”

James looks at the younger man and nods. “How did you find me? I mean…us. How did you find us?”

“I infiltrated Ayel’s hunting party,” Carol explains as she quivers an arrow. She looks at Pavel. “Where are we meeting the others?”

The young man motions them to follow. “This way,” he declares as he turns to lead the three of them to safety. “Arrow!”

James is pushed to the ground by the force of Pavel’s body as Carol shoots true and kills the bowman. He realizes very quickly that the arrow, meant for him, is embedded in the young man’s heart. “Pavel, no,” the prince whispers.

Pavel blinks slowly as he gazes at James’ face. He must see the prince’s tears, for he smiles and clasps the other man’s hand.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the prince tells him. “That arrow should have never made its mark on you.”

The younger man chuckles as the others show up, a little worse for wear. “They won’t leave you, your highness,” Pavel assures. “Save us.”

He draws his last breath moments later.


	5. Chapter 5

They burn Pavel’s body upon a pyre at nightfall.

Carol watches as James weeps silently with the huntsman’s arm draped over his shoulders. The man had introduced himself earlier as Leonard and shook her hand before going to the prince’s side. She observed them closely then, just as she does the same at the current time. Carol notices their closeness, something beyond savior and charge. It is clear to her that they know each other intimately, though she is uncertain of just how much.

 _If he breaks Jim’s heart, I’ll break his neck,_ she vows over the sound of crackling fire and the hymn that Scotty and Nyota sing.

The rest of the evening is filled with silence and by first light, the group rises to continue their way towards her father’s fortress. James is unwontedly quiet, only interacting with Leonard when he isn’t lost in his own head. The prince seems dazed, just like he did when his father died.

Carol remembers that day so vividly. She and James had been playing in the king’s library, a game of words using a giant atlas bound in leather when they heard the gates opening. Unlike the other times when the king or queen returned, there were no trumpets.

The children had exchanged a look before they rushed down to the courtyard where Queen Winona was sobbing, her face buried in Duke Marcus’ chest. Carol had heard James’ sharp gasp before she felt his hand squeezing her wrist. She followed his stare and saw the cause of the commotion; on a pyre laid King George, still wearing his battle armor.

James had started to rush towards his mother when Duke Pike grabbed him around the middle and hoisted the prince into his arms. “I want my mother!” the boy had cried, squirming to break free. “What happened? What happened to papa?”

“Come inside,” Christopher had urged as he carried James away. He glanced down at Carol and extended his hand for her to take. “Lady Carol?”

She had held his hand all the way to James’ bedroom, where he explained to the frustrated prince that his father had been killed in battle. Instead of having a tantrum, her friend went silent as the grave. Even when Carol brought him a gift for his birthday, James only nodded his thanks before retreating back into his own world.

He had rebounded within a few weeks, though the prince wasn’t exactly the same boy Carol knew or the man James has grown into.

When they stop for the evening, he takes to retiring early and makes up his bed near the Huntsman. James turns his back away from the rest of the group and barely moves as Leonard cards his fingers through the prince’s short hair.

Carol wanders across the campsite and finds herself standing in front of the Huntsman and her childhood friend. She locks eyes with Leonard and forces a grin. “I have it on good authority that the prince is playing possum,” Carol states. “Might I have a word with him?”

“It’s okay, Bones,” James pipes up just as the Huntsman is about to protest. He goes to sit up and palms his face. “Carol is an old friend.”

Leonard nods, still looking suspicious of her. “I’ll be speaking with Hikaru about our journey,” he says as he rises to his feet.

“He’s the overly protective sort, isn’t he?” Carol comments once the Huntsman is out of earshot. She turns to James with a cheeky arch of her brow. “I won’t keep you long, we wouldn’t want your companion to get the wrong idea.”

The prince snorts. “You were always more perceptive than most,” James says, picking at the furs draped over his lap.

“Partially my father’s doing,” she tells the prince. Carol glances at him, tilting her head. “I am sorry that I could not have prevented your friend’s death.”

James shakes his head. “You weren’t the one who quivered the arrow, nor the one who shot him,” he intones. “What happened to Pavel was not of your doing, Carol.”

“You were always kinder than most,” the lady says, giving the prince a smile that fades as he turns away from her. Carol sighs and reaches for his hand, holding it in her own. “I’m sorry I left you.”

The prince has a look of genuine surprise on his face, made sharper by the firelight. “You didn’t,” James stammers.

“If I had known you were alive…” Carol pauses, chewing the inside of her lip. “I would have come for you, Jim.”

He nods. “You’re here now,” the prince tells her with a sad smile. He clears his throat and pats her hand, rubbing her knuckles. “Now, tell me about your father’s army. Do you still follow Duke Pike around like a girl besotted?”

Carol gives him a warning slap on his hand. “Christopher,” she begins to say.

“Oh, _Christopher_ is it?” James teases.

She rolls her eyes. “Christopher has been training me in archery since I was fifteen and we have grown quite close,” Carol replies cryptically as a flush spreads across her cheeks. She spies James’ slack jaw and the bewildered glint in his eyes. “What? Stop looking me at me like that!”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” the prince says. He rubs his jaw and shrugs. “You always knew how to get what you wanted, and if you consider the Duke worthy, then I am happy for you.”

Carol giggles and looks in Leonard’s direction, noticing the scowl upon his handsome face. “I shall fetch your companion and allow you to get some rest,” she tells him, leaning over to kiss James’ cheek. “I imagine that Father will allow little of it once we arrive.”

As soon as she stands, the Huntsman heads towards them and mutters a thank you under his breath when he passes Carol. Leonard sits by James’ side once more, speaking in a voice too low for her to hear, and watches over him until the prince is asleep.

By then, Carol sits near Christine and Nyota, sharing a flask of fiery liquor between the three of them. She enjoys having female companions, who are more than welcoming towards her and are quizzing the lady about her archery proficiency when Leonard comes to them.

“Would you care for a swig, Huntsman?” Nyota asks, waving the flask in front of him. “It tastes like cooking oil, but I reckon it will keep you warm all the same.”

Leonard shrugs as he takes the flasks and drinks from it, wincing as its contents go down his throat. “That’s terrible!”

“It’s from Scotty’s own stores,” Christine chirps, her cheeks ruddy from drink. “Tis late and we are off early tomorrow. I shall leave this flask in your care.”

Nyota and she stumble towards their temporary beds with a good night, leaving Carol and Leonard alone. What the lady expects isn’t for the huntsman to sit down in Christine’s vacated spot. Together they pass the flask between and forth, their gaze falling upon James, who sleeps soundly next to Geoffrey.

“He hasn’t changed,” Carol whispers. “Jim has the same light inside of himself…you must see it, as well.”

Leonard traces his fingers around the cap. “You’d be blind if you didn’t.”

Carol smiles. “I’ve thought about him every day since I lost him. I can hardly believe that I’ve found him,” she confesses, earning a glare. “Rest assured, Huntsman, we are not like that. Besides, I think Jim’s heart belongs to you.”

“Is that what he told you?” Leonard asks, trying to sound casual. The soft glint—like a man besotted—in his eyes gives Leonard away. 

The lady shakes her head. “I could see it with my own eyes,” she says. “You should tell him how you feel. It would be good for the both of you.”

“I wouldn’t know how,” the Huntsman replies, looking down.

Carol touches his arm, gently touching the jacket that he wears. “Think of it like this; living with the regret of not saying something is a fair bit worse.”

“Sound advice from someone so young,” Leonard chuckles after a while.

The lady smirks. “It’s only sound if you take it,” Carol tells him before they lapse into silence and continue drinking.

 

* * *

 

James wakes before the others and sees miles upon miles of snow that covers their surroundings.

Flakes drift down from the clouds above and lands on the tip of the prince’s nose as he watches. He rubs his skin, chuckling quietly, and hears a grunt nearby. James turns his head to see Leonard curled up next to him, still asleep. His hair has come unbound from the cord he used to tie it and spreads over the snow like spilled ink. James brushes a tendril of it from the huntsman’s face, feeling the silkiness against his fingers.

“Jim,” Carol hisses from across the camp. She motions him to follow with the same mischievous grin that he recalls from childhood.

The price rises and is careful not to wake the rest of the camp as he goes after his friend. James notices the stillness that comes with the snowfall and how beautiful it looks. He pauses by a tree, whose branches are covered in sparkling white flakes.

Carol taps his shoulder, startling him.

“It’s you,” James says as he continues to admire the world around them. “It’s as if nothing’s changed here and that the world is beautiful again.”

His friend looks around, staring up at the trees above with her blue and green eyes. “It will be, when you are king,” Carol reminds him as she circles around the prince. “The people of this kingdom hate Nero with every fiber.”

“You know,” James starts, following her movements. He opens his mouth and catches a snowflake on his tongue. “I used to hate him.”

“Used to?”

James nods. “But now I only feel sorrow.” He glances at Carol and shrugs. “Strange isn’t it?”

“Not so much,” the lady replies as she rests against a tree. “Once people find out that you live, they’ll rise up in your name.”

The prince laughs as a flurry of snow drifts through the space of his fingers, like fairies or pixies. “It takes more than a name, Carol.”

“You are the son of your parents, the rightful heir,” she insists, curling a loose lock of hair around her finger. Carol looks towards the camp. “If Leonard had a choice, I dare say he’d take you far away and keep you safe by his side. We all have duties, Jim. Especially you.”

James tries not to smile at the thought. “How do I inspire, Carol?” he asks. “How will I lead them?”

“The way you led me when we were children, of course,” the lady answers with a grin. “I followed you everywhere. Don’t you remember? Ran when you called. I would have done anything for you, James.”

The prince laughs, louder than he should and unbeknownst to him, wakes both Leonard and Carol who are still back at camp.

They look at each other when they realize James is missing and go in search of him as he wipes his eyes at what the imposter has told him.

“That’s not how I remember it,” the prince tells his friend.

Carol arches a brow. “No? Is it not so? That’s how I remember it.”

“No! We used to fight, all of the time,” James snickers. “And argue. Mother and father said they knew when we were coming because of how the walls carried our voices!”

The lady smiles at the memory and reaches into her jacket, pulling out a ripe apple that’s the color of scarlet. James stares at the apple in her delicate hand and licks his lips before snatching it from Carol’s grasp.

“I remember that trick,” James says as he brings the fruit to his lips, inhaling the rich aroma.

Carol tilts her head, her eyes catching the light of the sun. “What trick?”

“Don’t act like you’ve forgotten,” the prince quips before taking a bite. He tastes a burst of sweetness and a bit of sour. The apple’s juices are so lush against his tongue as he chews and swallows it down, letting out a happy sigh.

James goes to tease Carol for losing the apple to him when he feels a wave of pain in his stomach. He chokes on his breath and looks to the apple that rots away in his hand. The prince drops it, watching in horror as it turns black before it hits the ground.

He looks towards Carol, who watches him in silence, and backs away from her as the pain grows.

“You see, my Jim, love always betrays us,” Carol tells him as she follows the prince’s stumbling getaway. She smiles sweetly when he falls to the ground, gasping for precious air.

James’ eyes water as he watches Carol transforming from a maiden whose life is in full bloom to Nero, whose skin is pale and fragile like parchment or crumbling stone.

His eyes flash, black as death and fiery like an inferno. The king pushes James onto his back without hesitation. “By fiercest blood, it was done, and only by fiercest blood can it be undone,” Nero chants as the prince bucks under him. He pulls a dagger from his sleeve and raises it over James’ heart, not noticing the tears that pool in the younger man’s eyes. “You were the only one who could break the spell and destroy me and the only one pure enough to save me, James. You don't even realize how lucky you are to never to know what it is to grow old!”

“No!” shouts Leonard.

An arrow shoots across the clearing and Nero moves, rolling off the prince to avoid being hit. Carol must fire off another for James hears the king curse and a fury of wings flapping all around him.

“Jim!” Carol cries as she pulls him into her arms. She caresses his cheek as she begins to weep.

Leonard is shouting again. “What are you looking at? Christine, Geoffrey! Do something. You’re healers! Save him!”

The prince hears the desperation in the huntsman’s voice and longs to see his face before his vision goes completely black.

“No,” Spock says in reply. “This cannot be.”

Carol’s eyes are upon him. “Jim,” she croaks, her hand never leaving his face. “Please, Jim. Please don’t do this. It’s not time.”

His vision whites out, something the prince didn’t expect from death. James wonders if he will see his parents and if they will recognize the man he has become.

He thinks of Leonard and how he never told him how he felt or that he does not want him to drown his sorrows, but to fight.

And then there is nothing but silence.

 

* * *

 

“So close,” Nero hisses as he crawls from the tar-like remains of dead crows. “So close.”

It takes all of his energy to pull himself to the mirror, where he rises to his full height and catches his reflection in gold.

He looks like an old man, beaten down by life and loss. Nero can make up borders of imaginary lands from the wrinkles on his skin, counting his nearly white hair as snowcapped mountains.

“So close,” he repeats, waiting for the mirror’s reply that never comes.

The mystical object has remained quiet for the last few days, from James’ departure or Nero’s waning powers, the king does not know.

He needs the lad’s heart. Even if Nero has to ravage all the land and slaughter all those who stand in his way, he will hold James’ heart in his hands.

And live. Forever.

 

* * *

 

Leonard does not recall if the loss of Jocelyn had cut him so deeply. He feels as if someone has crushed his heart and turned it into ash before his very eyes.

The Huntsman looks upon James, who has been laid inside of a grand chapel inside of Duke Marcus’ fortress. He notices the care someone has taken with the prince, who is now dressed in clothing made of the purest white material Leonard has ever seen.

Carol, the bandits, and himself had brought the prince to Alexander, all of them with tear-stained faces. The duke had treated them well upon their arrival, offering them refuge and a place to mourn. He had paid his respects to the prince by kissing the lad’s brow and whispering a prayer, then looked at the crowd with tears in his eyes.

“Here you are,” Leonard murmurs as he approaches the marble slab that James has been laid upon. It is covered in furs so that the prince’s journey to the afterlife shall one of comfort, an irony not lost with the Huntsman. “All dressed up like you’re about to open your eyes and give me more grief.”

He extends a hand that hovers over the prince’s body, move from foot to head. “Am I right, James?” the Huntsman asks. “Will you wake?” Leonard feels the sting of tears in his eyes. “You deserved so more than this and I am sorry I failed you.”

The huntsman wipes his eyes and rests his hand against James’ forehead, stroking the golden hairs that fall upon his skin. “You asked if I drank to numb my sorrows and the truth is yes, I did. I once had a wife, Jocelyn was her name. I never told you this, but I fought in one of the rebellions against King Nero.” He pauses in remembrance. “When I came back, I brought back the stench of death and anger of lost friends with me. I wasn’t worth saving, that’s for certain, but Jocelyn did so anyway. And I loved her so much; I loved her more than anyone, anything…”

Leonard begins to cry and bows his face against James’ chest. “I let her out of my sight and she was gone…and I became myself again, someone I didn’t care much for. Until you,” he whispers, looking up at the prince’s chest. “You have her heart and her spirit, but you too have gone.” He stands up straight and goes to stroke the prince’s cheek, his thumb brushing against James’ cheekbone where a cluster of freckles lie. “You are a king in heaven now,” Leonard tells the younger man. “And you’ll sit amongst the angels.”

The Huntsman kisses the prince’s lips, a gentle touch so he can feel their softness one last time. Tears slip down his cheeks and get lost in Leonard’s beard as he pulls back, his heart breaking anew.

“Why is your mouth so wet?” he hears a familiar voice question.

Leonard nearly jumps out of his own skin as he looks down upon James, whose eyes are slowly opening. A pair of tears escapes, trickling down the sides of his face towards his hairline. “Jim?” the huntsman stammers.

“Where am I?” the prince wonders aloud, as he tries to focus on his surroundings. He seems dizzy and out of sorts, though Leonard surmises that anyone who has just battled death would be the same. “Bones, why are you crying?”

The huntsman cups James’ face with his hands, looking at him in shock. “You…you were dead,” he manages to croak. “I watched you…Nero…”

“I need to speak with Duke Marcus,” James insists as he tries to scramble out of Leonard’s grasp. He sways as he sits up and is only steadied by the Huntsman holding onto him.

Leonard shakes his head. “You need to rest,” he states. He catches the determination in the prince’s eyes, which seem to burn brighter than before. “You’ll not listen to me, won’t you?”

“No, probably not,” the younger man confesses, shaking his head.

The Huntsman grumbles a string of curses under his breath as he helps James to his feet. “You will be the death of me,” he mumbles.

“Nero will be the death of us all if I do not speak to Alexander,” the prince states as they make their way out of the chapel. “We are at his fortress, are we not?”

Leonard nods. “Aye,” he replies. “And I suspect he’ll have my hide for allowing you to talk me into this… whatever you are about to do.”

“Just know that I love you,” James tells him as he slips his arm from the huntsman’s shoulder. He is like a foal, for the way the prince trembles as he stands.

The older man nods. “And I love you,” Leonard replies.

They find themselves in the courtyard, where Carol is in a fierce argument with her father. “James died for us, for our cause!” she shouts, her voice ringing up to the night sky. “We cannot hide behind these walls and watch this land die with him!”

“Carol,” Alexander sighs, trying to reason with her. He claps her shoulders. “Your grief clouds your judgment.”

She bats his hands away. “My grief makes me see more clearly, father!”

“My child, my duty is to protect those people who have come to this fortress for help,” the Duke explains. “I will defend them till the drop of my blood, but I cannot abandon these walls.”

Carol is about to spit out an angry retort when she sees Leonard and James coming out from behind a pillar. She nearly collapses at the sight and uses Duke Pike to keep her upright. “Father…” Carol gasps. “Look!”

Hundreds of eyes are upon the huntsman and the prince as they step into the center of the courtyard. Leonard keeps close to James, watching his every step.

He hears Spock’s voice as they pass, whispering, “The spell has lifted.” It figures that the mystic would have seen it coming.

“Death has favored you,” Alexander says to James as they meet for the first time in ten years. He looks upon the prince with fondness.

James swallows. “Death favors no man, my lord,” he replies as his gaze travels over his audience. For a moment, Leonard wonders if a lad’s shyness will overcome the prince. “We must ride like thundering waves under the battle flag of my parents!”

“You need your rest, your highness,” the Duke insists, concern coloring his features.

The Prince shakes his head. “We have rested long enough,” he declares, his voice growing stronger. “These past ten years, all I’ve known is darkness, but I have never seen a brighter light than when my eyes just opened.” James glances at Leonard, his lips quirking into a smile only meant for the Huntsman before turning back to the crowd. “I have seen what King Nero sees and I know what he knows. I _can_ kill him! And I know that the same fury burns in all of you, so let me be your flame. Allow me to be your weapon and we will end his reign. We shall see the light once more. Who will ride with me? Who will be my brother?”

A sea of voices calls back, raising their fists to show their support. Leonard is the first, followed by the bandits whose shouts are the loudest. Carol is next along with the dukes and soon the entire courtyard pledges their alliance to James.

The Huntsman has never been prouder or more in love.


	6. Chapter 6

The prince and his huntsman are shown to an apartment by Duke Marcus that looks out upon the east side of the fortress.

All that meets the eye are trees and a mountain range with snow caps at the very top. It’s far more lavish than either of them are used to and both men are afraid to touch anything as they walk inside. “I hope that both of you will be comfortable,” Alexander says. “I have also opened up the other apartments for your friends, so that they may rest before we set off in battle.”

James turns towards the Duke and inclines his head with a smile. “Thank you,” he tells him as Christine and Geoffrey come bustling in along with some servants. “It is very generous of you, my lord.”

“Jimmy,” Alexander sighs, stepping forward to hug the prince. When he pulls back, it is clear that he is distraught by the trials that have fallen upon the young man. “Had I known…I would have come back for you. I wouldn’t have left you there.” Alexander goes to hug James once more. “I am sorry for abandoning you.”

The Prince shakes his head. “You were not the cause of my misfortune,” he says, trying to ease the Duke's guilt. “Because of you, my mother’s standard has flown above this fortress’ wall in defiance of the king, and now you are offering your aid so that I may reclaim the throne. You have truly been a most loyal friend.”

Alexander smiles and pats James’ cheek. “You are truly the son of your parents, my dear boy,” he comments. When Christine clears her throat, he nods. “The healers wanted to assess your health to ease everyone’s mind.”

“They may,” the prince replies, offering a grin in Christine and Geoffrey’s direction. “Could water for a bath and some food be brought here as well? I am quite famished from my misadventure.”

“I will see to both those requests,” Alexander tells James. “It’s good to have you back, Your Highness.”

Before he can reply, both Christine and Geoffrey drag the prince to the large bed to look him over. He sits patiently through their assessment and smirks when he catches Leonard’s eye, who shrugs at the commotion.

A group of servants come to the apartment, some carrying stacks of fabric and others going to the ensuite bathroom to prepare the tub for bathing. They view James with a certain type of awe reserved for saints and quietly go about their tasks once the shock has settled.

“I’m just a young man,” the prince mutters, watching Leonard go into the bathroom.

Geoffrey chuckles. “Just a young man who has rallied hundreds of people to follow him into battle,” he says.

“They may very well be following me to their deaths,” James grumbles, worried about what he has started.

Christine nudges the prince in his side. “You have given them hope,” she tells him. “You ought to give yourself more credit, Jim. Now open your mouth.”

James is uncertain of how long he is under their attention, but the time Christine and Geoffrey have declared him to be in excellent health, the prince wants to bathe and then sleep in the arms of his lover. He wanders into the bathroom, where Leonard is relaxing in a rather large tub filled with steaming water. It seems that the servants have gone about trimming the huntsman’s beard and hair and have cleaned the grime from his nails in James’ absence.

As the prince goes to remove his clothing to join the older man, Leonard’s eyes open and a smile appears on his face. “I was beginning to wonder if Christine and Geoffrey would free you,” he quips.

“They have,” James says with a smile of his own as he steps out of his trousers, allowing them to pool at his feet. Next is his shirt. “Is there enough room for two?” The prince removes his small clothes and finds himself standing naked in front of Leonard, who seems pleased with the turn of events.

The huntsman nods, his eyes roaming over the younger man’s body and following him as James walks over to the edge of the tub. Leonard shifts his body to accommodate for another, grinning as the prince steps into the copper basin and water slosh to the tiled floor.

“I missed having hot water,” James sighs as he sinks into the tub, closing his eyes in relief. He feels the warmth spread over his skin and penetrate deep inside, erasing death’s touch and filling him with life.

Leonard’s foot nudges his shin. “Hot water is a luxury in times like these,” he agrees. His fingers touch one of James’ submerged hands, tracing his palm. “But you are worth far more.”

The prince opens his eyes and smirks. “Am I now?” he teases, drifting in between the huntsman’s spread legs and making himself comfortable. He presses his lips to the older man’s slick chest, feeling Leonard’s heartbeat under his mouth.

“You are priceless,” the huntsman whispers into his hair. He wraps a strong arm around the prince’s body, holding him close. “I don’t know how I would have survived had you not woken.”

James rests his head against Leonard’s shoulder. “Your life would have been less interesting without me there to give you more grief.”

“I would take your grief for the rest of my days, so long as you are alive, my darling,” Leonard says. He kisses the prince’s forehead. “I love you, more than I can fathom.”

The younger man smiles at his words. “I will do my best to love you and give you grief for the entirety of our lives,” he says. “Even after that, if the heavens allow it.”

“I’m sure they will,” Leonard chuckles, running his fingers through James’ hair.

They lounge in the tub for a while longer before the water becomes tepid and change into thick robes that feel soft against their skin.

Hand in hand, the two men enter the main room where a spread of food has been laid out for their consumption. A pair of servants finished with lighting the oil lamps and stoking a roaring fire. The servants bow when they see James and when their tasks are finished, they leave without a word. The Prince and the Huntsman have a quiet meal that is cleared away by another set of servants when they are done. James remembers this type of living from his childhood, though he believed he would never see it again. It is uncomfortable to be waited on after being a prisoner for so long.

“Come,” Leonard beckons as he rises from his seat. “I suspect that there is a bed that needs warming.”

The prince snorts, taking the huntsman’s in his own and follows behind him as they venture to the bedroom, where another fireplace has been lit. “You did promise to have me in a proper bed while a fire roars across the room,” he says.

“Aye,” the older man agrees as he pulls James to him. He presses a series of kisses across his face from forehead to chin, cheek to cheek, nose to lips as he guides them towards the bed. “I do recall saying something to that nature.”

James feels the ties of his robe being loosened and the touch of warm, calloused hands against his skin. He sighs as Leonard explores his body with fingers and lips. “Bones,” he murmurs, his voice nearly lost by the crackle of the fire.

“I know,” the Huntsman replies as he goes to kneel, mouthing his way down James’ body.

The robe slips off, falling to the floor with nothing more than a whisper. The prince looks down at Leonard, whose reddened lips are dangerously close to his cock. James leans against the mattress for support just as the huntsman takes one of his bollocks in his mouth.

The younger man groans at the sensation of tongue and suction that seems to go on for ages until his lover moves to the other, giving it the same attention that has been shown to its twin. James threads his fingers through Leonard’s damp hair, taking great care to not pull it.

The huntsman’s tongue travels up, dragging over the base of the prince’s erection and up the shaft towards his leaking head. He’s shuddering with need when Leonard _finally_ swallows him down, releasing a whimper as his cockhead touches the back of his lover’s throat.

James moans as the wet heat engulfs him again and again, thankful that the Huntsman has the foresight to pin his hips down to the bed. He feels Leonard’s slick fingers breaching his passage and silently thanking all that is holy that the walls are made of stone, for he’s certain that the entire fortress would have heard his cries.

“Bones,” the younger man whines, trying to fight the desperate urge to come. His opening is stretched with three of his lover’s fingers while the older man’s tongue teases the underside of his cock. “Please, I want you in me.”

Leonard’s mouth lets go of the prince’s length and looks up with flushed cheeks and swollen red lips. “Is that so, my darling?”

“Yes,” James pants as his lover removes his fingers and goes about lubing himself up. “I want you _now_.”

The Huntsman kisses the younger man’s sensitive skin until their mouths meet and James’ arms are wrapped around his neck. “As you wish,” Leonard whispers before taking the prince with one fluid thrust.

He holds his lover close, whispering declarations and pleas as they move frantically against each other. This coupling is rougher than the others before it, the ones where Leonard treated James like he was made of glass.

The prince half expected the more of the same—that sweet tenderness that melts his entire being—but this is what he needs.

What they both need.

When it’s over and the dazzling brightness recedes from James’ vision, he opens his eyes to Leonard’s face buried in his neck. The Huntsman trembles with his release and panting heavily against the younger man’s damp skin. “I came this close to losing you,” Leonard tells him. He meets the prince’s eyes as he pulls them close together, allowing his softening length to slip out from James. The huntsman thumbs his lips, then the tip of his nose. “I’m going to make use of this bed and roaring fire until it’s time for us to depart.”

James wrinkles his nose. “That is not a punishment, Bones,” he quips.

“No,” the Huntsman agrees. “Tis a reminder for when you go into battle that you must come back to me. _Alive_.”

“That goes both ways, my love,” James counters, winding his fingers through Leonard’s damp hair. “I plan to marry you after this and keep you all for myself.”

His lover grins at this statement and inches his face closer to James’. “Is that so, my darling?”

“It is,” James replies.

Leonard kisses him, cupping one of his cheeks as their tongues brush against one another. “I accept,” he whispers when they break apart. “For an eternity of lifetimes, I will marry you.”

 

* * *

 

It is early evening when the Huntsman finally rouses from his slumber.

He shifts, taking great care not to wake James, and presses the heel of his palm against his eyelid. Leonard feels the prince’s nose brushing against his shoulder blades and his fingers stretching along his stomach. For a moment it seems that the younger man will open his eyes, but then he hears James’ dreamy sigh.

The huntsman glances over at the prince, whose golden hair is illuminated by the setting sun. Leonard rolls over to face James, chuckling softly at the way his lover’s face wrinkles in annoyance and how he seeks the huntsman’s body.

He welcomes the sleeping prince into his arms, kissing his brow and stroking his back as James burrows into his chest.

It’s not surprising that they have both slept late. Their journey to Duke Marcus’ fortress had been a treacherous one, but that is not responsible for their fatigue.

No, it’s how they continuously made love from the moment they fell into bed together. Now that time was on their side, Leonard decided that it was time to show James what it was like to have the ability to experience continuous pleasure. He admits that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to be so vulnerable and exposed to another person, as well appreciate the look of ecstasy wash over their face when they climax. Leonard got to see it with James, who came into the arts of lovemaking with a certain type of awe that the Huntsman never experienced before.

Leonard had shown the prince how to please another with hands, fingers, and mouth. He took James in various positions, enjoying the way their bodies fit together as they moved across silken sheets and heavy comforters made of down. It is Leonard’s good fortune that James is a quick study.

When they weren’t making love, the two men spoke of their future together or dozed. They made use of the tub, ridding their skin of bodily fluid, oils, and sweat, and they ate. Duke Pike came to tell them that they would leave for Nero’s castle at twilight the following day, as they were still tallying supplies and their army. Neighboring kingdoms who had fallen to Nero’s dark reign sent aid as well as bodies. Thousands camped in or around Duke Marcus’ fortress, all of them wanting to see a glance of the long-lost prince.

The usurper, they were calling James.

“My beloved, my darling,” Leonard whispers to the younger man. He traces his finger over the curve of the prince’s jaw while listening to his steady breathing. “That is all you’ll ever be to me.”

It is nearly dusk when James’ eyes open and he stretches underneath the blankets. Leonard is coming in from the main room with a plate of food for them to share. He smiles at the sight of the prince’s golden head popping up and his lover’s sleepy stare as he brushes his hand over his eyes.

“Good evening,” the Huntsman greets as he climbs back into bed, balancing the plate carefully. He sets it down in his lap once he’s settled in.

James moves closer to him, propping himself up on one arm to survey the food on the plate. “How long have you been awake?” he asks after deciding on a grape and popping it into his mouth.

“A fair few hours,” Leonard replies. He picks up a drumstick and starts peeling off some meat. “And sit up, will you? We’re not barbarians.”

The prince sits up, scoffing, and reaches for more food. He presses his head against the older man’s shoulder. “You should have woken me,” he tells the Huntsman.

“You looked done in.”

James smirks. “I wonder whose fault that might be,” the prince teases, leaning in for a kiss, which Leonard gives him.

Leonard tastes fruit on his lover’s tongue and finds himself chuckling when the younger man deepens the kiss. The huntsman obliges him for a moment, carding his fingers through James’ hair. “And yet you still want more,” Leonard says when they part.

He watches the prince grin at his statement. “I’ll never tire of you, my love,” James tells him. The younger man turns to fluff up his pillows behind his back and leans against them. “Tell me what I missed while I slept.”

They speak of inconsequential things while they consume the food the Huntsman brought in. Once the plate is empty and their bellies are full, James dons a robe to use the bathroom. As Leonard goes to the main room, two maids enter.

“Sir,” they both say, bobbing in a curtsy.

He finds himself blushing as Leonard is unfamiliar with being addressed with respect. The huntsman gives them both a wan smile and a nod, watching them as they clear away their meal.

Another pair of maids come in, carrying clothing in their arms. Candle and firelight reflect off of the items, which are carefully laid out on a settee.

James enters the room and greets the maids with a warm smile. “It’s good that I put something on,” he whispers to Leonard.

“Something tells me that company would not have stopped you from wandering around these rooms naked,” the huntsman teases.

The prince laughs before turning his attention to the settee. “What is that?” he asks.

“It was your father’s,” a sudden voice replies. Duke Pike enters the apartment alone and inclines his head once James’ eye are upon him. He gestures to the chainmail. “He wore it during his first military campaign and saved eight hundred lives that day.”

The younger man shares a glance with Leonard and goes to touch the armor. “He wore this?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the duke replies. “I thought you would appreciate the sentiment and its good luck.”

James traces his fingers over the polished metal. “Nero destroyed nearly all of my parents’ belongings,” he tells the huntsman and Duke Pike.

“Not all,” Pike says with a secretive smile. “I am pleased that I was able to give you something tangible to remember your father by.”

With a bow, the duke leaves them.

Leonard comes up behind James, wrapping a protective arm around his middle as he kisses the younger man’s neck. “You’ll look fetching in mail,” he comments.

“Let us hope it will be the only time I have to wear it,” the prince says, placing his hand on top of the huntsman’s.

He nods in reply. “Let us hope,” Leonard echoes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _huge_ thank you to Bre, who is so wonderful and amazing, and everyone who has stuck by my crazy AUs! I wish I could tell you in the right words about how much this means to me.  <3

It is early morning when Carol rides up next to James, Leonard, and their six bandits, all mounted on steeds from her father’s stables.

Like the prince, she wears armor that her father gifted to Carol on her sixteenth birthday. Perhaps Duke Marcus was under the impression that its bulkiness would dissuade his daughter from battle, but it only added more fuel to her fury. “I’m surprised to see you dressed,” she chides quietly enough so only James can hear. Carol giggles at the flush his skin takes on.

He rolls his eyes without turning his head to look at the lady. “I’m surprised to see you awake,” James retorts, clearly not forgetting what a task it had been for their minders to get her out of bed.

“Your father’s armor suits you,” Carol says, changing the subject. She’s not lying: the prince looks much like King George from the portraits she remembers from childhood and from seeing the king in the flesh. “He would have been proud to see you wear it, Jim.”

The corners of James’ lips curl into a pleased grin that cuts through the darkness around them. “I believe he would have, too,” he agrees, glancing at her.

As Carol goes to reply, Alexander and Christopher come through on their horses. Both men look regal in their armor, despite the metal being worn from use and age. Spock, the Vulcan mystic, trails behind them and situates himself next to her father.

“James,” Alexander greets with a tight smile as he pulls his horse next to the prince. “These men and women may fight under your mother’s standard, but they are _your_ army to command. It is a tradition that you say a few words before we depart.”

The young man pales slightly and looks at his huntsman with uncertainty in his eyes. Whatever quiet moment passes between the lovers seems to put James at ease as he nudges the mare he sits upon.

Carol watches as he goes in front of the crowd, looking them over. James clears his throat, the sound only heard by the people near to him.

“Let's go get this son of a bitch!” the prince shouts, much to the dismay of Carol’s father and the cheers of the army that has amassed.

She raises her sword, yelling her approval as Alexander sighs and shakes his head. “Come now, father,” Carol laughs. “You did say it was a tradition!”

“Perhaps once James has gained the throne, we shall appoint someone to prepare his speeches,” Alexander says to Christopher, who does little to hide his amusement at the young prince.

Spock is also smirking. “My lord, when this event comes to pass, I highly recommend that the lady, Nyota, would be an excellent candidate,” he suggests, turning his dark gaze towards his subject.

“You don’t say,” Alexander replies as he glances at Nyota, smiling at her. “I will think on it. Thank you kindly.”

 

* * *

 

Nero drops the last sacrifice, a lad whose coloring vaguely reminds him of James, on the stone floor.

The body lands in a sprawl reminiscent of a child’s rag doll, lying next to a maiden. There are at least fifty young people that are scattered across the floor, all of them drained of their life force to serve a higher purpose.

To save his throne.

Nero glances at himself in the mirror, observing his smooth, unblemished skin and rich dark hair. There is not a single strand that isn’t black as night. His body is strong and his power pulses through his veins. He is young again, whole and complete. The fiercest of them all.

“Mirror, mirror,” Nero says, his voice no longer raspy. “On the wall, what secrets will you unfold for me? Tell me about the boy.”

He steps back as the mirror’s surface begins to ripple, like waves in a pond. The veil parts and the being inside the mirror steps into Nero’s chamber.

“My king,” she greets. “The secrets that divide you from your throne are moving towards you as we speak. Like wild horses, those hooves beat like a war cry with each step.”

Nero’s expression hardens. “The boy lives.”

“He does,” the mirror replies.

“ _How_?” he snarls. Nero begins to pace, his robes flowing behind him. “How does he live? I _saw_ him take a bite of that apple, I saw it with my own two eyes! And you tell me that he still lives?”

The mirror nods, the veil covering her face shimmering with her movements. “Love,” she answers. “True love’s kiss.”

“There is no such thing!” Nero counters, his voice rising. “Love is a maiden’s notion, a fool’s tale to incite a dalliance. It’s a folly!”

The being inside the mirror stands as still as a statue, her face hidden behind the golden veil upon her head until she makes a gesture. “Human nature is no folly, but wisdom for those who seek to find it.”

“Lies,” Nero rebuts, shaking his fist.

“The boy is coming for you,” the mirror tells him. “He has amassed an army. The queen’s standard flies once again, over the very cliffs just beyond the castle walls.”

The king inhales his fury and exhales. “Then let them come,” he says. “Let them break their skulls on these stone walls. Let them bring me the prince’s heart!”

 

* * *

 

It seems like ages since James has felt the sea breeze on his skin.

He closes his eyes, allowing the mist to kiss his cheeks and be dried up by the sun overhead. A bit of solace before the storm.

“It was never this fearsome,” Alexander comments, causing James to open his eyes. The older man smiles at him. “Your parent’s castle. It used to be a place of happiness and life. This whole land used to be.”

James nods in understanding, though he silently admits that he hardly remembers the castle appearing in any other way. Ever since Nero came to power and he was imprisoned, all his memories of childhood took on a darkness that the prince doesn’t dare wish upon anyone. “When we gain the throne, this kingdom will become whole once more.”

“I have no doubts, your highness,” the duke replies. “You are your parents’ son.”

Carol and Leonard ride up to them with the bandits in tow. “Before we gain the throne, we must get inside,” the lady tells them, not mincing words. She points to the castle gates, which are lowered.

“There’s another entrance, from the beach,” James says, pointing to a cluster of rocks. “It’s hidden behind there and there is no killing field.”

Carol shrugs, nudging Nyota. “Such a small relief,” she jokes, earning a chuckle.

“Aye,” Hikaru agrees as he peers through a spyglass. “But they have ranged weapons. Several catapults, at least two ballistas, and a row of trebuchets.” He hands the instrument to James, who peers through it. “We need to ensure that the gate is up, or we’ll be marching to our deaths, your highness.”

James shares a glance with Leonard, who acknowledges Hikaru’s observation. “He’s right,” the Huntsman says. “We must be able to guarantee our entry.”

“If only we could fly,” Geoffrey sighs.

The prince stares at the rocks, chewing on the inside of his mouth. He thinks back to his escape, trying to remember what he had seen. James shifts in his saddle and perks up a moment later, turning to Spock. “Who is the agilest of your bandits?”

He watches as the Vulcan’s eyes move from his comrades, clearly deep in thought. Spock continues to ponder for several more minutes before saying, “Myself, Scotty, Hikaru, and Nyota.”

“What on earth is going on, eh?” Scotty whines, his voice booming over the Vulcan’s. He leads his horse over to them, clearly not happy at hearing his name.

Nyota’s arm flies out, punching him in the shoulder. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, you crazy fool!” she chastises.

“They have the subtlety of a herd of cows,” Leonard comments, eying the lot. He turns to James. “What idea do you have, my beloved?”

The prince smirks. “I am certain that the four of you will not like it,” he warns.

“Aye, but when do we ever like plans but our own?” Hikaru quips.

 

* * *

 

“I cannae believe that I am swimming through a sewer,” Scotty bellows as they wade their way through murky waters.

Hikaru and Nyota exchange a knowing glance as Spock continues on, leading the way. They knew that the prince had been apologetic at his suggestion that they enter through the way he escaped.

“Well, believe it, Scotty,” Hikaru tells his friend. “And remember not to naysay it in front of his highness. He came through these very walls to find freedom.”

Scotty scoffs. “Only to come back again!” he grouses. A moment later he screeches at something in the water bumping his back. “McCoy promised us gold! If you let us pass without further trouble, he said! I’ll be more than happy to share it with you, that louse told us all!”

Hikaru and Nyota snicker, neither of them trying to hide their amusement at their comrade’s annoyance. Even Spock’s lips quirk.

“We helped them reach Duke Marcus’ castle, and what do we get?” Scotty continues ranting. “ _Poo_!”

Just then a floating object that closely resembles some sort of human excrement floats by the group, causing the mad one to go silent.

“Oh there, lads!” Nyota says a bit too cheerfully. “That looks like one of mine!”

Eventually, they find themselves peering through an opening in the castle wall, allowing them visual access to the courtyard. It’s buzzing with activity as Nero’s army is preparing for battle. Weapons are being sharpened, arrows being carried to their bowmen, projectiles being carted off to different sections of the castle.

“At least the prince has a good eye,” Scotty comments a bit too loudly.

Hikaru smacks him upside the head and holds his finger to his mouth, motioning for him to be quiet. “We shouldn’t fear Nero, but Scotty’s blasted mouth!” he hisses.

“He’s as quiet as a mad dog,” Nyota says, pushing between the two men while Spock looks over her shoulder on tiptoe.

Scotty grumbles in disgust. “Aye, you’d be too if you just carried through shit!”

“Perhaps you are forgetting that we were there as well,” Spock comments as he surveys their surroundings and enemies. He points towards a corridor. “There. If we can make our way undetected, we can gain the gate tower.”

Nyota turns her head. “You mean if people don’t smell us.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, Ny,” Hikaru chirps, sniffing the air. “We’ll fit right in!”

They push Nyota out of the sewerage hole first, allowing her to find shelter behind some empty barrels. Hikaru is next, followed by Spock who pulls Scotty out by his arms. By the grace of a higher power, the quartet sneaks across the courtyard undetected by Nero’s men. They suppose the enemy is too busy to be bothered with what they think are beggars.

Spock leads them into the corridor, where they pause for him to gather his bearings. He is the most steadfast of the group and logical when it comes to their less than savory activities. “There,” he says, pointing to the gate tower that looms above. “The prince said that houses the mechanics for the gate.”

“Well, boys,” Nyota announces as she inches towards a staircase leading upwards to the tower. “It seems we have some fighting to do!”

They advance through the staircase, listening for others who may be coming down. One or two do, but Hikaru and Nyota are quick to dispatch them as Spock and Scotty hold the back. The raging sea grows louder upon their approach until it’s all they can hear. It’s just as well that it distracts the enemy from their footfalls, allowing the group to split into teams of two. There are five guards manning the tower, one of whom makes the mistake of walking outside and onto Nyota’s sword.

She covers his mouth as he dies and discards him off to the side, where his body will not bother anyone. Hikaru advances inside just as Scotty rushes in with Spock at his heels. A brief battle ensues. Nyota uses the distraction to cut the rope that tethers the gate, grinning with delight as it begins to rise.

That is until the guard she thought she killed grabs her with a bloodied hand. He has cut the opposite tether, allowing the gate to close. The guard is about to pierce her kidney with a dagger when Spock gets him from behind, slicing his head from his neck. Nyota shrieks at the spray of blood against her skin, pushing the body down the rope shaft. “There are _other_ ways to kill a man!” she yells, wiping bodily fluid from her face. Nyota glares at the Vulcan. “Cleaner ways!”

“Our clothes are already ruined,” Spock tells her, grinning wider than he usually does. “Come, let us meet our comrades and help the prince fight for the throne!”

She points to the gate, which has now closed. “We need to find a way to get it back up!” Nyota shouts over the sounds of projectiles and arrows being hurled at the gathering army below.

Scotty holds up a finger. “Aye, I got it!” He charges the cut tether and jumps, grabbing the rope.

They watch as his body weighs it down, though not enough to duel against iron.

“You crazy fool!” Hikaru curses as he too runs and jumps, grabbing the section above Scotty. He nearly kicks his friend in the head.

“Watch your foot!” he bellows. “Or I’ll cut it off!”

Hikaru glares down at him. “I’ll have your bloody head, Scotty!”

Both men continue to argue as the rope lowers and the gate begins to open. Nyota and Spock share a glance before he, too, joins their friends, causing them to fully disappear down the shaft.

“Hell,” Nyota murmurs as she leaps and partakes in their antics.

They hear the gate rising, allowing the army to pour into the castle courtyard. Scotty and Spock secure the rope while Nyota peeks out from the shaft’s door.

“Has the fightin’ begun?” Hikaru inquires.

She nods. “Aye.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Scotty shouts, charging the door with his sword drawn. “Long live the prince!”

 

* * *

 

Leonard keeps his eyes ahead of him as James’ army charges through the gates, avoiding fiery projectiles and arrows alike.

At his side is the prince, who rides as bravely as a seasoned warrior. Carol flanks James’ left, keeping him between her and the Huntsman. As soon as they enter the courtyard, the three of them are off their horses and surrounded by the dukes Pike and Marcus, as well as three other men who converge around James.

“Remind me to thank the bandits for their aid,” Leonard whispers into his beloved’s ear. His borrowed shield and sword are drawn, ready for anyone who dares try to attack the prince.

James holds his shield above his head, avoiding any assault from above. He is silent, something one could interpret as fear. Leonard knows best; the prince is planning his next move as they cross the courtyard.

A man leaps from above, crashing into the human blockade. He raises his sword, only to have the arm removed from his person by Carol.

Leonard finishes him off with a blow to his chest, destroying his heart with his blade. “Jim!” he bellows, searching for the prince through the fray.

He watches as the prince stares up, looking into the fathomless eyes of King Nero before he runs through soldiers, guards, and inflamed doorways only to disappear into the castle.

“No!” the huntsman shouts, earning Carol’s attention. They share a worried glance before following him.

 

* * *

 

James feels that a spirit has taken over his body as he makes his way to the throne room.

Perhaps it’s his parents or a vengeful spirit seeking to end Nero, but the prince keeps going. Or maybe it’s his own courage, dug up from the depths of his soul, truly becoming the man he was always meant to be.

He enters the throne room, noticing how different it appears from his childhood. Gone are the banners of his mother’s standard and their rich colors, taking away the white marble and replacing it with darkness. Shards of death. The stench of it, washed away by Nero’s magic, reaches his nostrils as if it was still there. It stains the floors and walls, creating a path to the king who patiently waits for him.

James sets his jaw and hurries his approach with his sword and shield at the ready. He does not know battle as Leonard and Carol do, but he has fury.

Nero observes him with dark eyes and a statue-like expression. A smirk curls at his lips, as if he knows something that James does not. “Come,” the king beckons, turning away from the prince. “Come avenge your mother, who was too weak to raise her sword.”

James lets loose a growl and raises his weapons as he runs to assault Nero. In a span of heartbeats, he is close enough to thrust his sword into the man’s back, only to have his enemy grab the blade. He finds himself being flung into a stone antechamber, hitting the ground with a clatter. His armor protects him as much as possible, though James feels bruises blossoming. He grabs his sword and charges again with a yell.

Nero’s arm shoots out, colliding with the prince’s jaw. James is thrown back, skidding until he hits a wall with his face. The coppery tang of blood fills his mouth just as Nero grabs him by the scruff. James lets out a cry as his neck is bent back. He reaches for his dagger and plunges it into the back of the king’s hand, only to watch Nero pull it out as if it was just a pinprick.

James finds himself thrown once more, slamming his head into a stone wall. Through dizzy vision, he watches as the king flings the dagger away with his now healed hand.

“Jim!” Leonard yells from the throne room, earning Nero’s attention.

The prince watches as Leonard and Carol enter with a group of men, ready to fight in his name. Nero chuckles darkly at the intruders and flicks his wrist. The ceiling begins to crumble like black shards of glass, falling to the ground in jagged pieces. One hits a soldier, severing an artery in his neck and causing his death. More pieces fall, attacking the group until the glass breaks into two forms. Beasts of darkness rise from the cinders, snarling and swiping at their targets.

James watches as the beasts leap from column to column, sending bits of itself to attack his friends. He turns to Nero, his fury boiling over. With a yell, he jumps to his feet and slams his body into the king. The prince hits his captor at his midsection, sending both of them to the ground. It gives Leonard, Carol, and their comrades a momentary reprieve before Nero revives his glass beasts, sending them after the group with more rage than before.

James goes to grab him, only to be slammed into the ground. He coughs, choking up blood and a piece of his cheek, which he spits onto the stone ground. Nero pulls him by the hair and drags the prince over to the archway so that he can view the carnage in front of him. “Go on,” he shouts. “Watch them die!”

He claws frantically at Nero’s grasp, digging his nails into the man’s skin and raking them as hard as he can. James cries out in frustration, only to be jostled.

“How does it feel, James?” Nero laughs. “Knowing that you were the one who led them to their deaths?” He forces the prince to look into his eyes, which glow like embers. “You see, my boy, we’re not that different, are we?”

He lets go of the prince and walks towards the antechamber. James grits his teeth, jumping to his feet. “I’m _everything_ you’re not!” he counters, finally finding his voice.

“Is that so?” Nero asks as he nears a pit of fire. He reaches out, touching the flame with his fingers before stepping inside. The king turns back to the prince and smiles as the young man gasps. “Do you truly believe that you can defeat me?”

The prince watches in horror as the flame burns away Nero’s skin, exposing muscle and tendons and bone. It does not pain the king and only adds to his bloodlust.

“You cannot defeat me! I have lived twenty lives,” Nero screams as he steps out of the fire and uses his magic to pin James to the wall. “I have ravaged entire kingdoms with powers you could not begin to fathom!”

James drops to the ground, landing hard enough to scrape his face. He groans in pain as a flash of metal catches his eye.

His dagger.

“I will _never_ stop! _Never_!” Nero continues, causing the walls to shake. “I will give this wretched world the king it _deserves_!”

The prince lunges for his dagger, grasping the hilt just as Nero delivers a kick to his stomach. He rolls onto his back, gasping for precious oxygen as the king straddles his thighs. James swallows as Nero produces a dagger from his sleeve, raising it high in the air.

“By fiercest blood, it is done!” the king bellows, going to stab him.

James blocks Nero’s arm, locking them in a standstill before he shoves his own dagger into the king’s chest, pushing it as deeply as it will go. “And only by fiercest blood is it undone,” James counters.

The king’s features go slack, contorting in confusion as he leans back to find the dagger protruding from his body. Nero gasps as he removes the weapon, allowing three drops of his blood to fall upon James’ armor.

Outside the glass beasts fall, disappearing as their master’s powers wan.

They stare at each other, black against blue, until Nero breaks it and staggers backward. He crawls away from the prince, towards a golden mirror that sits in silence. Fear is written all over the man’s face, deepening as he withers.

James follows, his eyes filling with tears as he leans over the dying man. “You can’t have my heart,” he whispers.

Nero opens his aged mouth, releasing a choked breath. He is dead before his body expels it completely.

 

* * *

 

James does not allow his coronation to take place until a year and a day after Nero’s defeat.

He feels that his kingdom should be healed from its’ sorrows before he ascends the throne. Of course, it does not stop him and Leonard from being wed.

The Huntsman has the luxury of watching his beloved husband make his kingdom whole once more, which it seems to magically do overnight. The castle, once dark and bleak, returns to itself former glory: the walls become white once more, vegetation blooms in abundance and the evil veil of Nero’s reign is erased. Subjects find crops and livestock returned to their former glory. Joy replaces dread, sorrow disappears into happiness, and the blue rose, Tiberius, appears, covering the countryside with its magnificent color.

“Tis a different kingdom,” Leonard says to James as they sit in the meadow just beyond the castle. “If you did not know it.”

His beloved, now the king, looks up from his journal and tilts his head. The healing powers have also touched the two men, making them healthy and whole. James is bigger than he was when Leonard met him in the dark forest, having filled out to a strapping man. “Our kingdom?” he questions.

“ _Your_ kingdom,” Leonard corrects.

James shakes his head. “ _Our_ kingdom,” he counters, crawling into the huntsman’s lap. “You are my husband and this land is yours as well as mine.”

“And then it will be the kingdom of Carol and Christopher’s children,” Leonard says, reaching to brush his knuckles over his husband’s cheek. “A wise decision if I say so myself.”

The king wrinkles his nose. “You may,” he teases, pressing their lips together. “And they will be some of the greatest rulers the world has ever seen.”

“I disagree,” the Huntsman replies. “They’ll read about you in history texts. Hundreds of years from now, your name will still be on everyone’s tongue.”

James shrugs as he relaxes into Leonard’s embrace, ducking his head under his husband’s chin. “It means nothing to me,” the king tells his beloved. “I don’t care if they change every detail of our story, so long as they remember its message.”

“Oh, you don’t, then?” Leonard chuckles, raising his head to look James in the eye. He runs his fingers through the younger man’s hair, twirling a lock around his finger. “What do you want them to remember, husband of mine?”

James ponders this for a moment while they relax under the sun, whose rays know no boundaries. It stretches for as far as the eye can see, touching the kingdom in blessing. “That where there is darkness, there is light,” the king finally responds.

No truer words have been spoken.


End file.
